The  Turn  of 
the  Road 

* 

Eugenia  Brooks  Frothingham 


BOSTON   AND  NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cbe  RitoetjsiDe  £re$#,  Cambribfle 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,   IpOl,  BY  EUGENIA  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


TO 
MY  SISTER 


2045727 


CONTENTS 


I.  WINIFRED  CHOOSES 1 

II.  INTERLUDE 21 

III.  KATE 32 

IV.  NEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE   .        .  36 
V.  DAN'S  PATH  is  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM     .        .  51 

VI.  REALIZATION 62 

VII.  ACCEPTANCE 78 

VIII.  AT  THE  CROSSWAYS       ....  91 

IX.  SHADOWS 109 

X.  DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT    ....  128 

XI.  TEMPTATION 141 

XII.  ON  THE  WAY 156 

XIII.  HOME 172 

XIV.  THE  CLOSED  DOOR          ....  178 
XV.  WINIFRED  PAYS  HER  DEBT       .        .        .  189 

XVI.  Too  LATE 195 

XVTL  THE  WORLD'S  VIEW 203 

XVIII.  THE  FRIEND'S  VIEW       ....  210 

XIX.  KATE  ATONES 216 

XX.  DR.  DAVAGE  AGAIN       ....  226 

XXI.  WINIFRED  AND  DAN 234 

XXII.  WOMAN  AND  ARTIST      ....  248 

XXIII.  THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW  .               .  258 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 
Chapter  I 

WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

THE  June  air  was  full  of  sunshine  and  the 
rapturous  singing  of   bobolink  and  thrush. 
In  the  fields  was  a  gay  riot  of  wild  flowers. 

Winifred  sang  with  careless,  joyous  passion  as 
she  walked  in  the  garden  between  flaming  poppy 
beds:  — 

"Sweetheart,  thy  lips  are  touched  with  flame" 

The  clear  young  voice  rang  out  gloriously.  She 
flung  her  head  back  with  a  gesture  of  joyous  aban- 
donment, and  her  song  rose  higher  in  restless, 
swinging  measures :  — 

"  Sweetheart,  the  blood  leaps  in  thy  cheek  ; 
Sweetheart,  thy  very  heart-throbs  speak; 
Sweetheart"  — 
Her  voice  ceased  suddenly  as  her  eyes  met  those 

1 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

of  some  one  who  leaned  over  the  garden  gate, 
watching  her  with  amused  admiration. 

"  Dan !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  did  n't  know  I  was 
singing  to  you." 

"I  was  daring  to  hope  you  did,"  he  answered 
with  ready  audacity,  as  he  vaulted  over  the  gate 
and  joined  her. 

The  flush  in  her  face  faded  quickly,  and  she 
shook  hands,  with  a  laugh.  In  his  level  lips  and 
steady  eyes  her  mirth  found  no  response,  which 
was  rare.  Before  speaking  he  hesitated,  which 
was  rarer  still.  He  remembered  certain  documents 
in  a  green  bag  he  carried,  which  would  take  the 
happy  confidence  out  of  her  young  life.  He  was 
unaccustomed  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news ;  more- 
over, he  loved  this  girl  with  the  passion  of  his 
youth,  with  the  strength  of  his  manhood,  and  from 
the  depths  of  his  soul.  So  he  hesitated,  not  know- 
ing how  to  tell  her,  and  the  shadow  deepened  on 
his  face. 

Winifred  looked  perplexed. 

"You  are  worried,  or  something,"  she  said 
lightly.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  the  fault  of  the  green 
bag,  and  I  don't  blame  you.  Drop  it  behind  the 
lilac  bush,  and  come  and  see  my  roses." 

Dan  ignored  the  words.  "  I  have  news  for  you," 
he  said. 

2 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

"News  for  me?"  questioned  Winifred.  "It  is 
bad  news,"  she  added  quickly. 

"  Yes,  bad  news." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  displeased 
silence. 

"  I  know  what  it  is :  the  will  has  been  found, 
and  papa  has  left  half  our  money  to  a  home  for 
aged  ladies  and  trade  unions."  She  smiled,  half 
bitterly,  half  contemptuously. 

"No  will  has  been  found,"  he  answered  her 
gravely,  and  they  walked  to  the  house  through  the 
brilliant  garden. 

Winifred  looked  a  sombre  young  figure  in  her 
black  dress,  with  her  masses  of  dark  hair,  and  a 
seriousness  on  her  face  as  rare  as  it  was  striking. 
Her  personality  was  too  strong  and  independent  to 
be  wholly  feminine,  nor  was  she  a  girl  the  average 
man  would  love  or  be  happy  in  loving.  An  affair 
with  her  would  involve  elements  of  doubt  and  fear 
—  doubt  of  winning  her,  fear  of  her  restive  power 
when  won. 

The  man  who  walked  beside  her  now,  with  the  ob- 
stinate chin  and  daring  eyes,  neither  doubted  the  one 
nor  feared  the  other.  He  had  loved  her  since  they 
were  boy  and  girl,  and  as  desire  and  possession  were 
synonymous  terms  in  his  vocabulary  he  had  vowed 
within  himself  to  win  her.  As  yet  his  confidence 
3 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

seemed  somewhat  misplaced,  and  it  was  in  this  con- 
nection that  his  best  friend  had  been  known  to  say, 
"  Howard  is  a  man  who  should  fail  in  something, 
lest  he  grow  to  fancying  himself  omnipotent." 

There  was  no  arrogance  now  in  the  eyes  that 
looked  down  into  hers ;  only  a  grave,  protective 
tenderness. 

"  Win,"  he  began,  when  they  were  seated  on  the 
broad  veranda,  "  you  must  prepare  yourself  for  a 
great  blow.  I  don't  ask  you  to  be  brave,  for  I  know 
you  can  never  be  anything  else."  He  paused.  Her 
eyes,  questioning  but  fearless,  met  his. 

"You  remember,"  he  went  on,  "that  last  week 
we  found  a  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  your  father's 
safety  vault,  and  you  gave  me  your  written  per- 
mission to  open  it.  I  did  so  yesterday,  and  found 
only  worthless  bonds,  some  few  certificates  of  good 
stock,  and  records  of  vast  sales  of  property  made 
during  the  last  years  of  his  life,  when  he  seems  to 
have  lived  entirely  on  his  principal.  This  was  al- 
most exhausted  at  the  time  of  his  death." 

Winifred  was  pale,  but  her  eyes  did  not  falter. 
"How  much  is  left  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Enough  to  yield  you  and  Edith  about  fifteen 
hundred  a  year." 

"And  the  extravagant  improvements  made  on 
the  place  last  winter?" 

4 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

"  They  were  done  on  credit." 

"  And  there  was  no  credit  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  credit." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  quickly. 

"  Of  course  we  must  pay  the  money  back  at  once, 
if  we  starve  for  it.  Oh,  it  is  shameful  —  shameful." 
A  flush  half  of  anger,  half  of  pain,  came  into  her 
face.  She  rose,  and  leaning  on  the  balustrade 
looked  out  on  the  sunlight  and  flowers.  Dan 
tramped  up  and  down  the  piazza  noisily.  He 
wanted  very  much  to  swear. 

"  So  we  are  poor,"  she  said  wonderingly,  trying 
to  adjust  her  thoughts  to  the  fact.  "  We  are  poor 
—  and  in  debt."  Here  was  a  very  tangible,  prac- 
tical fact.  She  flushed  again. 

Dan  sat  down  astride  of  a  chair  and  folded  his 
arms  on  the  back. 

"  The  place  ought  to  bring  fifty  thousand,"  he 
said  practically.  "  That  would  more  than  pay  all 
you  owe,  and  leave  something  to  invest.  Walter 
should  see  to  it  for  you." 

Winifred  flung  out  her  strong  young  arms  with 
an  impatient  gesture.  "  How  Aunt  Betsy  and 
Uncle  Charles  will  moan  over  and  pity  us !  I  feel 
my  temper  rising  in  anticipation.  I  have  had  so 
much  pity  during  the  past  weeks  that  I  can't  stand 
another  ounce  of  it." 

5 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

She  paused,  and  a  swift  change  came  into  her 
face  and  voice. 

"  Dan,  I  want  to  tell  you  something  —  something 
that  I  am  more  ashamed  of  than  of  anything  else 
in  the  world  —  something  "  —  She  hesitated ; 
there  was  almost  a  tremor  on  her  lips. 

"Yes,  Win;  out  with  it,"  came  Dan's  deep 
voice.  His  lips  were  commendably  grave,  but  in 
his  eyes  was  amused  incredulity. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  because  —  because  I  want 
you  to  know  me  just  as  I  am,  and  because  I  feel  I 
am  not  honest  in  taking  sympathy  from  you  when 
I  don't  need  it,  and  because  now  that  this  wrong  of 
father's  has  come  to  us  I  may  say  things." 

"  Yes,  Win." 

Her  face  was  white,  but  she  went  on  hurriedly : 
"Every  one  thought,  because  I  did  not  lose  my 
head  or  cry  at  the  time  of  father's  death,  that  I 
was  strong  and  proud,  but  broken-hearted.  I  was 
not.  I  mean  I  did  not  really  grieve  for  one  single 
hour." 

"  I  knew  it,  dear." 

"You  knew  it?"  she  asked  in  astonishment. 
"  Then  how  can  you  go  on  —  caring,  if  you  know 
me  so  well  ?  Oh,  you  can't  think  of  the  shame  I  felt 
when  they  all  kissed  and  cried  over  me  and  called 
me  a  brave  girl!  How  ashamed  I  felt  when  I 
6 


WINIFEED  CHOOSES 

thought  of  father,  and  how  he  loved  me  best !  Of 
course  I  was  fond  of  him  and  missed  him  dread- 
fully, but  it  was  not  love  and  it  was  not  grief.  I 
know  that  very  well ;  I  know  what  they  both  must 
be,  though  I  can't  seem  really  to  love  any  one  in  the 
whole  world.  Only  a  little  while  after  he  died,  I  was 
thinking  with  part  of  me  that  it  was  good  to  be  free, 
so  that  I  could  go  abroad  and  study  singing."  Her 
eyes  were  dark  with  remorseful  passion.  "  Dan, 
why  don't  you  tell  me  you  despise  me  ?  Why 
don't  you  say  something  ?  " 

"  I  can  never  say  less  than  this  to  you,  dear,"  he 
answered,  and  taking  her  hand  in  his  kissed  it  re- 
verently. Then  he  went  on  in  his  deep,  rich  voice 
while  he  kept  her  hand :  "  Whether  you  love  or 
not,  you  are  always  the  bravest,  truest  woman  in 
the  world,  the  one  prize  in  life  most  worth  win- 
ning. Some  day  you  will  love,  and  so  well  that  it 
is  worth  while  losing  the  lesser  love  of  a  thousand 
lesser  women  for  the  chance  of  winning  you  and 
yours." 

For  the  moment  he  was  holding  her  in  the  spell 
of  his  eyes  and  words.  She  did  not  withdraw  her 
hand. 

"  Dan,"  she  almost  whispered,  "  can't  you  make 
me  love  you?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  some  day  I  shall  find  the  way." 
7 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Her  being  was  vibrating  with  a  hint  of  something 
strange,  and  strong,  and  madly  sweet,  but  it  was 
only  a  hint.  Fortunately  Dan  knew  this. 

He  knew  that  her  powerful  nature  was  crude  as 
yet ;  that  she  must  come  up  to  many  of  her  mile- 
stones and  discover  their  small  value  before  she 
would  pause  and  hearken  to  the  deep  whisperings 
of  life  and  love.  Some  of  her  lamps  must  be  put 
out  before  she  could  see  the  stars. 

The  light  died  quickly  in  her  eyes,  and  she  with- 
drew her  hand  and  nature  from  him.  There  was 
a  rushing  in  his  ears,  and  for  an  instant  the  sun- 
light looked  red;  but  he  controlled  himself,  and 
forced  his  voice  to  a  steady  if  constrained  quiet, 
while  he  discussed  with  her  such  commonplace 
details  as  the  placing  of  property,  the  payment 
of  debts,  and  the  adjustment  of  living  expenses 
to  a  reduced  income.  He  even  brought  her  to  in- 
vestigate certain  contents  of  the  green  bag,  and 
explained  technical  points  with  praiseworthy  steadi- 
ness, while  she  leaned  over  his  shoulder. 

When  there  came  a  pause  she  looked  at  him 
quizzically  and  somewhat  doubtfully.  The  color 
had  come  back  to  her  face  and  the  confidence  to 
her  bearing. 

"  Of  course  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do," 
she  said,  a  suppressed  excitement  in  her  voice. 
8 


WINIFKED  CHOOSES 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dan,  bending  his  head  over  the 
papers  he  held. 

"  Now  don't  spoil  it  by  objecting.  Besides,  ob- 
jecting won't  do  the  smallest  good." 

"  I  am  not  objecting.  Have  you  any  idea  how 
soon  you  start  ?  " 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  settle  estates,  debts,  and 
so  forth,  here.  That  ought  to  be  by  early  autumn, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  It  must  be  early  autumn.  Oh, 
how  blissful  it  will  be,  back  in  my  dear  Europe, 
free,  and  learning  to  be  a  great  artist !  There  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  n't  go  on  the  stage  now,  and 
every  reason  why  I  should.  Edith  and  I  are  poor, 
and  I  must  make  money  for  us  both.  I  am  glad 
we  are  poor  —  do  you  hear  me,  Dan  ?  —  glad.  The 
world  shall  be  at  my  feet ;  I  shall  have  everything 
I  want,  and  more  —  more.  Ah,  it  is  glorious  to 
think  of.  Dan,  you  don't  know  —  you  don't  know !  " 

Dan  made  no  answer.  She  paced  restlessly  to 
and  fro  on  the  piazza. 

"  I  shall  succeed,"  she  went  on  —  "I  know  that. 
I  was  made  for  success,  just  as  you  were.  Nature 
never  cut  me  out  for  a  mere  paving  stone.  Why 
don't  you  say  something  ?  Oh,  how  irritating  you 
are !  Why  don't  you  say  you  feel  sure  I  shall  suc- 
ceed ?  "  She  stopped  in  front  of  him. 

"  Because  I  don't  feel  sure  of  it,"  he  answered. 
9 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Dan !  "  She  looked  at  him  in  wide-eyed  aston- 
ishment and  some  displeasure.  "  How  absurd ! 
Why  don't  you  think  so  ?  I  should  like  to  know 
simply  for  the  sake  of  argument.  Of  course  I  don't 
really  care  what  you  think,  because  you  don't  know. 
You  are  a  very  clever  lawyer,  and  have,  I  am  told, 
exceptional  powers  of  convincing  juries  of  things 
they  don't  want  to  believe,  that  no  reasonable  per- 
son could  believe,  and  that  you  probably  don't  be- 
lieve yourself ;  but  that  does  n't  prove  you  know 
anything  of  the  elements  that  go  to  make  up  a  great 
singer.  Now  will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  I  lack  ? 
Have  n't  I  voice  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  is  n't  it  beautiful  ?  " 

"  It  is  beautiful." 

"  Well,  then.     Can't  I  act  ?  " 

"  Up  to  a  certain  point." 

"  Up  to  a  certain  point  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"  I  mean  that  you  can  act  well  up  to  a  certain 
point." 

"  So  you  said  before." 

"  I  will  say  it  again,  if  you  wish." 

Winifred    was   irritated,   Dan   correspondingly 
amused.     Then,  with  feminine  tact,  she  carried  her 
point  by  an  appeal  to  his  most  vulnerable  quarter. 
10 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

"  Dan,  please  don't  chaff.  You  know  that,  what- 
ever I  say,  I  care  for  your  opinion  more  than  I  do 
for  any  one  else's.  I  really  want  to  know  what  you 
think  I  lack." 

He  was  only  softened  within  certain  limits. 
"  Well,  then,  I  think  you  are  crude.  You  cannot 
be  great  at  any  art  till  you  put  some  of  your  life's 
blood  into  it,  and  you  have  n't  been  bled  yet." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Then  I  don't  mind.  Your  words  are  only  theory. 
I  have  temperament,  and  that  anticipates  all  expe- 
rience of  an  emotional  kind,  lives  it  in  the  nerves 
and  imagination.  Musicians  don't  need  to  live; 
through  music  alone  they  learn  all  that  is  greatest 
of  love  and  life." 

"  That  is  only  another  theory,"  said  Dan  obsti- 
nately. "  The  proposition  that  temperament  takes 
the  place  of  and  anticipates  experience  remains  to 
be  proved." 

"  Proof  ?  Nonsense  !  A  woman  does  n't  need 
proof.  She  knows." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Dan  dryly,  "  she  knows." 

"  Well,  what  more  do  you  want  than  knowing  ? 
Dan,  you  are  laughing  at  me  !  " 

Then  she  laughed  herself,  with  good-humored 
appreciation  of  his  point  of  view,  but  went  on  imme- 
diately to  express  an  unconscious  sense  of  rebellion. 
11 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  KOAD 

"  Of  course,  I  might  have  known  you  would  put 
all  sorts  of  objections  in  the  way.  You  think  a 
woman  ought  to  stay  at  home  and  make  a  home  ; 
making  a  home  means  being  troubled  with  pots  and 
pans.  You  know  very  well  I  can't  do  that,  and 
what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  I  ask  you  to  answer 
me  reasonably  —  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

This  was  a  reckless  question,  and  Dan  answered 
as  she  might  have  known  he  would  :  — 

"  Marry  me." 

She  flushed  and  moved  uneasily.  "  You  know 
that  is  more  impossible  than  anything  else."  Her 
voice  dropped  a  little.  "  Please  don't  talk  so  any 
more.  I  mean,  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  An 
unmarried  woman  has  her  choice  of  four  things : 
society,  charity,  literary  clubs,  and  melancholia.  I 
don't  feel  inclined  to  any  of  those.  There  is  one 
thing  more  :  I  can  follow  out  some  of  papa's  social- 
istic studies.  I  can  think  about  the  greatest  good 
of  the  greatest  number.  I  can  have  theories  con- 
cerning the  disposition  of  economic  rent ;  not  that 
I  could  ever  understand  what  economic  rent  was, 
but  I  suppose  I  could  learn  in  time,  as  other  people 
have.  I  could  even  form  a  woman's  club  for  the 
propagation  of  my  ideas,  and  write  pamphlets, 
and"- 

"  God  forbid !  "  ejaculated  Dan  fervently. 
12 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

"Very  well,  then,  what  is  the  use  in  talking 
about  it  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  he  answered  quietly,  with  a 
tormenting  smile ;  then  he  added  more  seriously : 
"  Don't  let  us  misunderstand  each  other  any  longer, 
Win.  I  can't  say  I  am  glad  to  have  you  go  away 
and  study  for  the  stage ;  but,  all  things  consid- 
ered, I  think  you  are  doing  the  only  thing  you 
can  do." 

"  Then  why  could  n't  you  have  said  so  in  the  be- 
ginning ?  "  Winifred  was  only  partly  pacified. 

"  In  the  first  place  you  did  n't  give  me  a  chance. 
Then  I  am  usually  so  weak-minded  with  you  that 
my  self-respect  now  and  then  requires  the  stimulus 
of  teasing  you."  He  rose.  "  And  now  good-by. 
I  have  some  work  to  do  on  an  important  case,  when 
I  must  deal  with  a  more  than  usually  obstinate  jury. 
Shall  I  put  the  estate  into  the  hands  of  a  broker  ? 
I  can  see  to  it  without  troubling  you  to  come  up  to 
town.  No,  don't  thank  me  ;  that  is  n't  allowed,  you 
know ;  besides,  it 's  no  trouble.  I  shall  be  down 
again  in  a  day  or  two  with  some  papers  for  you 
and  Edith  to  sign.  I  hope  the  poor  child  will  take 
the  loss  of  her  fortune  as  easily  as  you  have  done. 
Good-by  again." 

Before  she  could  speak  he  had  gone.    With  sof- 
tening eyes  she  watched  the  retreating  figure. 
13 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Dear  old  Dan !  "  she  said.  "  What  should  I  do 
without  him  ?  I  suppose  I  ought  to  give  him  up, 
but  I'm  too  selfish.  Besides,  he  wouldn't  go." 
She  smiled  with  pride  in  his  strength. 

Three  months  later  Winifred  and  her  sister  were 
leaning  over  the  side  of  an  Atlantic  liner,  and 
watching  idly  the  confusion  of  leave-taking  and 
baggage-hunting  going  on  between  deck  and  wharf. 
There  was  only  one  more  good-by  to  say ;  then  the 
great  ocean  —  the  new  life  !  Winifred  told  herself 
she  was  jubilant,  and  held  her  head  high.  Her  eyes 
were  bright  and  her  face  pale.  Edith's  mouth  was 
quivering,  and  her  eyes  were  suspiciously  red ;  but 
she  said  nothing.  Then  Dan  appeared  from  the 
cabin;  his  face  looked  worn,  but  he  spoke  with 
determined  cheeriness.  "There  are  your  table 
seats,"  he  said.  "  I  have  said  a  good  word  for  you 
with  the  captain,  and  your  fee  will  have  due  effect 
on  the  steward,  I  don't  doubt.  I  wish  you  had  felt 
like  affording  outside  staterooms ;  yours  seem 
stuffy.  Mrs.  Smith  thinks  her  berth  is  small,  and 
said  there  was  no  place  in  the  brackets  for  her 
cologne  bottle.  She  is  rather  tearful ;  but  she  will 
feel  better  in  a  day  or  so,  I  dare  say.  She  is  old, 
eminently  respectable,  and  will  let  you  have  your 
own  way ;  so  she  possesses  the  essentials.  Where 
14 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

are  you  putting  your  tickets  ?  That  is  n't  safe. 
How  will  you  ever  learn  to  take  care  of  your 
things  ?  Fold  them  this  way  —  see." 

"Yes,"  said  Winifred  with  unusual  meekness, 
"  I  think  I  understand.  They  are  almost  as  hard 
to  fold  as  time-tables.  There,  Dan,  that 's  the  bell 
for  you  to  go.  Please  go  —  it  makes  me  nervous. 
I  hate  saying  good-by.  Please  go  —  now  —  they 
are  taking  up  the  gangway." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Dan  coolly.  "  I  made 
arrangements  to  go  on  with  you  a  bit  and  take  the 
tug  back.  You  don't  look  as  pleased  as  you  ought 
to,  to  hear  it.  Edith,  you  look  tired.  Has  n't  the 
headache  gone  ?  " 

"No.  I  think  I  should  like  to  lie  down,  if  I 
could  find  my  chair." 

There  was  a  little  catch  in  Edith's  voice,  for  a 
strip  of  green  water  was  widening  between  them 
and  home. 

"  Your  chair  is  here.  It 's  a  little  windy  now, 
but  when  we  get  out  more  to  sea  the  breeze  will 
be  on  the  other  side.  I  arranged  it  on  purpose. 
Here  are  the  shawls ;  let  me  undo  them  and  spread 
one  on  the  chair  before  you  sit  down.  They  are 
first  cousins  to  gridirons,  these  chairs,  but  you  can 
circumvent  them  with  practice.  Is  that  all  right  ? 
Shan't  I  open  your  umbrella?  There  is  nothing 
15 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

like  an  umbrella  for  keeping  off  wind.  Now  are 
you  comfortable  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  How  kind  you  are !  You 
think  of  everything.  I  am  sorry  to  reward  you  by 
crying.  I  know  men  hate  it,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Dan  kindly.  "  I  like  to 
see  a  woman  cry  sometimes." 

Then  he  went  back  to  Winifred.  He  had  never 
seen  her  cry.  "  We  will  walk,"  he  said.  "  There 
are  one  or  two  things  I  want  to  say  to  you.  We 
may  not  see  each  other  again  for  a  long  time." 

*'  I  know,  Dan,"  she  broke  in  hurriedly ;  "  I  have 
something  to  say  also.  I  meant  to  write  it,  but 
that 's  because  I  am  a  coward.  I  think  I  had  better 
say  it  now.  First,  I  want  to  thank  you  —  oh,  but  I 
can't  thank  you  enough  for  all  you  have  done,  when 
I  think  what  you  give  me,  and  what  I "  — 

"  Stop  there,  Win.  I  don't  want  thanks,  and 
I  don't  want  reward,  even  supposing  I  deserved 
either.  To  serve  you  is  and  must  always  be  "  — 
He  paused,  and  closed  his  lips  firmly  on  the  words 
in  his  heart.  The  strain  of  prolonged  leave-taking 
was  wearing  on  his  nerves. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  have  been  thinking  about," 

Winifred  went  on.     "  Things  can't  go  on  as  they 

are.     You  are  too  good  a  man  for  some  woman  to 

miss.     Your  love  is  too  precious  to  be  poured  out 

16 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

before  some  one  like  me,  who  —  I  was  just  think- 
ing now,  when  I  saw  you  taking  care  of  Edith,  that 
I  have  somehow  missed  the  right  angle  of  woman- 
hood." 

"  You  will  find  it,"  he  broke  in. 

"  Don't  make  it  hard  for  me,"  she  continued;  "I 
am  not  the  kind  that  loves  and  marries.  I  am  go- 
ing away  forever,  perhaps,  and  this  is  the  moment 
for  us  to  say  good-by ;  our  friendship  must  end.  I 
can't  ever  forget  you  —  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever 
find  any  one  to  take  your  place ;  but  it  is  best  — 
it  must  be.  I  don't  want  you  to  write  to  me ;  I 
shall  not  write  you.  I  want  you  to  put  me  out  of 
your  life  "  —  Her  voice  had  grown  so  very  low 
that  Dan  bent  his  head  to  listen. 

When  she  paused,  he  smiled. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  he  said,  "  you  have  n't  given 
me  the  address  of  your  pension  in  Paris.  I  may 
write  there  instead  of  to  the  bank.  I  shall  expect 
a  letter  from  you  once  a  month  at  least,  and  if  you 
ever  write  me  such  nonsense  as  you  have  just 
spoken,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  cross  the  ocean  at  once 
and  marry  you  against  your  will." 

Winifred  drew  a  deep  breath  and  then  laughed 
—  a  short,  low  laugh  that  had  something  of  tri- 
umph in  it.  She  gave  him  a  whimsical  sidelong 
glance. 

17 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  do  like  your  combativeness,  Dan,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  dream  for  the  shadow  of  a  second  that 
I  would  let  you  go  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  tried  to  believe  it,  because  I 
know  it 's  right  that  you  should." 

"  But  you  did  n't  want  to  believe  it  ?  " 

"  No.     I  should  miss  you  more  than  —  any  one." 

"  Thank  you,  Win." 

For  a  while  they  walked  in  silence.  Most  of  the 
passengers  were  in  their  staterooms,  and  the  deck 
was  deserted.  The  great  steamer  began  to  throb 
rhythmically  to  her  depths  with  a  mighty  life  of 
steam  and  steel.  The  wind  from  out  of  the  sea 
came  to  meet  them,  and  its  first  greeting  thrilled 
mournfully  in  the  rigging. 

Dan  kept  his  eyes  on  the  watery  horizon.  There 
were  deepening  lines  round  his  mouth,  and  his  face 
looked  older  than  his  years.  Win  easily  kept  pace 
with  his  swinging  stride ;  but  there  was  an  odd 
hollow  feeling  at  her  heart.  She  shivered  and  drew 
her  cloak  about  her,  wishing  that  Dan  were  gone. 

He  turned  at  her  movement.  "  You  don't  look 
right,"  he  said;  "surely  this  motion  is  not  too 
much  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  don't  feel  altogether  natural.  I 
very  much  suspect,  Dan,  I  very  much  suspect  that 
I  don't  like  saying  good-by  to  you."  She  smiled 
18 


WINIFRED  CHOOSES 

as  she  spoke,  with  a  full,  candid  look  into  his 
eyes. 

Dan  stooped  to  fasten  her  cloak.  "Let  us  sit 
down,"  he  said.  And  then,  during  the  time  that 
remained,  he  spoke  to  her  only  of  his  love  —  spoke 
passionately,  tenderly,  powerfully  always,  with  a 
certain  sturdy  eloquence  entirely  his  own.  Wini- 
fred listened  in  silence,  and  was  moved  as  only  he 
had  power  to  move  her ;  but  she  did  not  answer 
him,  and  kept  a  pale  face  turned  to  the  sea. 
When  a  shrill,  discordant  whistle  surprised  them, 
and  a  tug  appeared  suddenly  under  their  bows,  she 
started. 

"  It 's  the  tug  ! "  she  cried. 

"Yes."  Dan  wheeled  about  and  caught  her 
hands.  "  Dearest,  one  word  more.  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  going  to,  what  temptations  you 
are  going  to  have.  But  whatever  comes  to  you, 
however  you  are  tempted,  however  you  yield — you 
don't  know  what  I  am  talking  about,  but  you  will 
learn  too  soon  —  I  am  ready  to  be  at  your  side  to 
take  your  part  against  the  world  ;  for  whether  you 
ever  love  me  or  not,  you  will  always  be  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world  to  me,  the  greatest  happiness, 
the  greatest  pain  —  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  all 
my  life.  Never  forget  this :  whatever  danger  threat- 
ens, whatever  happens,  never  forget  to  say,  '  Dan 
19 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

loves  me  for  better,  for  worse.'  Promise  to  re- 
member that,  dear.  *  Dan  loves  me  for  better,  for 
worse,  and  is  always  there  when  I  need  him.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  worth  it  —  I  am  not  —  I  can't 
give  it  back." 

"  That  is  my  affair.     Promise  me,  Win." 

"  Yes,  Dan." 

A  warning  cry  came  from  the  tug. 

"  Good-by,  my  love  —  good-by." 

"  Don't  forget,"  he  called  up  to  her  from  where 
he  swung  on  the  ladder,  halfway  down  the  steamer's 
side. 

"No.     Oh,  Dan,  good-by — good-by." 
20 


Chapter  II 

INTERLUDE 

WHEN  Dan  went  back  to  his  room  that  night, 
Walter  Garrison,  the  friend  he  lived  with, 
looked  at  him  doubtfully  over  the  edge  of  the 
"  Transcript." 

"  Why  were  n't  you  at  your  office  this  morning  ?  " 
he  asked. 

Dan  rolled  a  cigarette  in  silence.  "Can  you 
give  me  a  light  ?  "  he  said  finally ;  and  that  was 
the  only  answer  Walter  received,  and  the  last  time 
he  asked  that  particular  question. 

Walter  Garrison  was  Dan's  most  intimate  friend, 
which  means  that  they  shared  the  same  apartment, 
breakfasted  and  dined  together,  spoke  little,  held 
opposite  views  on  nearly  everything  concerning 
this  life  or  the  next,  and  would  have  cheerfully  cut 
off  their  right  arm  for  each  other,  if  such  a  sacri- 
fice had  seemed  beneficial. 

Dan  always  said  that  Walter  had  been  born 
several  centuries  too  late.  If  he  could  have  lived 
in  the  time  when  all  ladies  were  fair  and  all  men 
21 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

were  brave,  and  when  evil  was  a  thing  to  be  fought 
with  a  spotless  name  and  silver  armor,  he  would 
have  made  his  mark.  As  it  was,  he  dealt  in  cor- 
poration paper  and  collateral  loans,  wore  the  un- 
picturesque  garb  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and, 
concealing  his  sensitiveness  and  chivalry  under  a 
rough  beard  and  a  slow  manner,  passed  as  a  very 
commonplace  young  man  indeed. 

The  friendship  between  the  two  men  began  in 
their  boyhood  on  the  mutual  discovery  of  a  good 
place  for  finding  angleworms ;  it  had  lasted  through 
the  rough-edged  gladness  of  college  life,  and  it  held 
fast  in  their  early  manhood,  though  Walter  was  a 
struggling  note  broker,  and  Dan  the  most  success- 
ful lawyer  of  his  age  in  the  State,  and  though  there 
was  the  name  of  a  woman  which  could  never  be 
mentioned  between  them. 

During  the  days  at  Harvard  they  had  roomed 
together  as  they  did  now.  The  arrangement  had 
been  mutually  satisfactory  in  spite  of  difference  of 
temperament  and  belief.  Dan  read  Plato,  while 
Walter  went  to  church.  Dan  loved  such  diverging 
possibilities  as  the  classics  and  football ;  he  was 
aggressive  in  both.  Walter  plodded  through  the 
average  college  courses,  and  preferred  rowing  to 
the  strenuous  wrestling  of  football  fields ;  he  was 
aggressive  in  nothing.  Dan  was  confident  with 
22 


INTERLUDE 

what  his  enemies  called  "  confounded  arrogance," 
and  his  friends  considered  "splendid  audacity." 
He  thought  with  lightning-like  speed  and  power, 
but  Walter's  mind  moved  slowly  and  obstinately ; 
his  ideas  were  more  easily  formed  than  changed. 

It  was  in  his  Junior  year  that  Dan  one  day 
rescued  Winifred  from  drowning,  and  discovered 
while  bearing  her  to  the  shore  that  he  loved  her. 
He  told  her  so  before  her  hair  had  time  to  dry,  and 
though  she  did  not  laugh,  she  treated  the  matter 
lightly  and  reproached  him  for  having  spoiled  their 
fun.  Then  Dan  went  back  to  college  with  an  added 
doggedness  of  jaw,  and  spent  hours  in  silences  that 
were  never  satisfactorily  explained. 

During  the  years  that  followed  he  laid  his  best 
at  her  feet,  and  she  learned  to  accept  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  There  were  times  when  he  grew 
restive  and  claimed  impossible  things,  when  his 
words  made  her  cheek  burn  and  his  eyes  shamed 
her  light  indifference ;  but  Winifred's  spirit  was 
cool  and  free  ;  she  defied  him  easily. 

So  Dan  went  hungry  through  his  early  manhood, 
and  about  his  mouth  there  came  lines  that  do  not 
belong  to  youth. 

Walter  disliked  Winifred ;  she  was  too  self- 
assertive,  and  according  to  his  views  there  must  be 
something  wrong  about  a  girl  who  did  not  return 
23 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  KOAD 

Dan's  love.  He  hoped  her  departure  for  Europe 
and  intention  to  go  on  the  stage  would  end  Dan's 
hopes  and  desires,  but  asked  no  questions. 

And  Dan  was  not  forgetting.  His  working  hours 
were  troubled  with  visions  of  Winifred  imprudently 
going  with  wet  feet  in  a  new  climate,  and  commit- 
ting hygienic  offenses  against  which  there  was  no 
one  to  warn  her.  He  wrote  pages  of  instructions, 
and  to  her  amused  protestations  he  agreed,  adding, 
"  But  you  see  I  had  rather  the  world  begged  than 
that  you  should  want  for  a  glove." 

Winifred,  on  her  side,  was  rapidly  learning  care 
of  herself,  and  other  singers'  lessons  of  renounced 
freedom,  limited  amusement,  and  general  slavery  to 
the  condition  of  vocal  cords. 

"  Whoever  could  think  you  would  submit  to  all 
these  precautions,  Win?"  said  Edith,  when  her 
sister  wrapped  her  throat  in  scarfs  and  refused  to 
go  out  damp  evenings.  "  Have  you  written  Dan 
that  you  have  given  up  talking  except  on  state 
occasions  ?  " 

"  That  is  only  when  I  have  a  cold,"  protested 
Winifred. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  have  colds  very  often ; 
you  never  used  to  have  them.  Perhaps  it's  the 
climate." 

24 


INTERLUDE 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  it 's  just  because  they  're  so 
inconvenient  now." 

"  I  hope  it  will  all  come  out  right,"  sighed  Edith. 

"  It  must  come  out  right,"  said  Winifred. 

"  What  must  ?  "  asked  a  third  voice  from  the 
doorway. 

Edith  welcomed  the  visitor  cordially,  inwardly 
asking  herself  why  Kate  always  seemed  ill  or  un- 
happy ;  Winifred  indifferently,  and  wondering  why 
she  could  never  like  her. 

Kate  Randolph  possessed  that  "  elegant  super- 
ficiality "  which  is  the  graceful  mask  of  women  of 
the  world.  It  would  be  difficult  to  tell  what  she 
thought  on  any  subject  whatsoever,  or  if  she  thought 
at  all.  A  shallow  woman,  people  called  her  — 
dainty,  exquisite,  patrician,  thinking  little,  feeling 
less,  and  one  to  whom  a  crime  would  be  easier 
than  an  act  of  bad  taste.  But  there  were  her  eyes 
which  could  not  be  accounted  for  —  large,  dark, 
hungry  eyes,  that  had  no  right  to  be  in  that  deli- 
cate face,  and  that  gave  the  lie  to  her  thin  lips. 
Moreover,  there  were  whispers  about  Kate  to  which 
no  one  gave  open  credence,  because  she  was  Kath- 
erine  Randolph,  and  the  name  of  Randolph  could 
cover  a  multitude  of  sins ;  but  it  was  suspected 
that  Kate  had  been  responsible  for  Jack  Sunder- 
25 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

land's  going  wrong,  and  her  best  friends  could  not 
defend  her  treatment  of  Lord  de  Normandy.  That 
she  was  untruthful  no  one  attempted  to  deny,  and 
she  was  worldly ;  but  public  opinion  was  her  con- 
science, so  she  would  keep  straight  —  if  it  were  not 
for  those  eyes. 

"  What  must  come  right  ?  "  she  repeated,  when 
greetings  were  over.  "  If  Winifred  says  it  must, 
it  will ;  but  what  is  it  ?  "  Kate  handled  her  words 
daintily. 

"  It 's  the  voice,"  explained  Edith.  "  Winifred 
does  not  think  things  are  going  well." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry !  "  exclaimed  Kate.  "  I  was 
looking  forward  to  hearing  you." 

Winifred  smiled  an  irritating  smile,  delicately 
suggestive  of  incredulity. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?  "  Kate's  eyes  changed 
suddenly  till  they  overweighted  the  flower-like  face, 
and  the  effect,  coming  as  it  did  in  the  midst  of  her 
light  chatter,  was  almost  startling.  Edith  won- 
dered why  it  was  that  Kate  so  often  looked  at 
Winifred  in  this  way. 

Winifred's  eyes  had  met  Kate's  with  an  expres- 
sion of  cool  inquiry.  "  I  did  n't  know  you  were 
fond  of  music." 

"  I  wish  I  were  not,"  said  Kate  ;  "  it  makes 
me"  — 


INTERLUDE 

"You  surely  don't  mean  cry?"  interrupted 
Edith. 

"  No,  it  makes  me  wish  I  could.  It  makes  me 
think  of  everything  I  am  not,  and  reminds  me  of 
all  I  want  to  forget.  So  you  see  how  very  much  I 
must  have  wanted  to  hear  you  sing." 

Kate  never  laughed ;  but  she  smiled  now,  and 
the  smile  and  ease  of  her  last  words  contradicted 
the  sudden  weariness  of  her  first. 

"  Winifred  has  a  strange  effect  upon  her,"  re- 
flected Edith.  "  When  they  are  together  she  looks 
at  no  one  else,  and  yet  I  always  feel  that  she  dis- 
likes her." 

"  I  doubt  if  Win  will  ever  be  able  to  sing  to  any 
one,"  she  said  aloud ;  "  and  if  she  does,  it  won't  be 
before  one  or  both  of  us  have  had  melancholia.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  discouraging  it  is,  Kate.  She 
is  always  taking  cold,  which  means  two  weeks  with- 
out a  lesson,  and  now,  just  as  she  was  becoming  ac- 
climated, she  finds  that  —  What  was  it  you  found, 
Win  ?  You  were  telling  me  when  Kate  came  in." 

"I  seem  to  be  singing  wrong,"  said  Winifred, 
forgetting  her  guest  in  gloomy  preoccupation.  "  I 
could  n't  take  a  high  C  yesterday." 

"  Must  she  have  a  high  C  ?  "  asked  Kate  inno- 
cently. 

"  She  says  she  must,"  said  Edith. 
27 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Of  course  I  must,"  replied  Winifred,  with  some 
impatience.  "  There  is  n't  a  grand  opera  in  the 
world  that  has  n't  a  high  C  in  it.  A  prima  donna 
without  a  high  C  !  Why,  you  might  as  well  think 
of  a  nightingale  without  a  trill." 

"  You  see,  it 's  a  very  grave  matter,"  explained 
Edith.  "  Everything  about  singing  is  a  grave  mat- 
ter. I  am  sure  Win  will  lose  her  sense  of  humor. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  opera  singer  with  a  sense 
of  humor  ?  " 

Kate's  experience  in  opera  singers  was  limited, 
and  they  let  the  matter  rest  on  Edith's  assertion 
that  humor  was  incompatible  with  care  of,  and  de- 
pendence upon,  vocal  cords. 

Kate  seemed  to  take  more  interest  in  the  affair 
than  the  occasion  required. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  have  to  give  it  up,  and  go 
home,"  she  said  suddenly.  "  Perhaps  your  voice 
cannot  stand  professional  work." 

"Yes,  it  can,"  answered  Winifred  resentfully. 
"  My  voice  is  splendidly  strong  by  nature,  but  I 
am  being  badly  taught.  I  am  not  sure  about  the 
chest  or  head  tones,  but  I  know  my  middle  is 
back." 

"  Your  middle  is  back  ? "  repeated  Edith  help- 
lessly.    "  Win,  dear,  I  hate  to  seem  stupid,  but 
what  do  you  mean  by  your  middle's  being  back?" 
28 


INTERLUDE 

"  I  mean  that  my  middle  tones  are  not  forward 
enough,"  explained  Winifred,  with  some  impa- 
tience. 

"  What  does  she  mean  by  a  tone's  being  forward 
or  back?  "asked  Kate. 

"  I  don't  know,"  sighed  Edith.  "  It  is  as  bad 
as  learning  to  talk  golf." 

Winifred  tried  to  explain,  but  her  audience  was 
stupid  and  possibly  uninterested. 

"  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  it  is  all  wasted  time," 
said  Edith  inconsequently.  "  I  do  not  mean  the 
explanation,  but  your  studying  for  the  stage.  We 
have  been  here  over  six  months,  and  I  don't  see 
that  much  has  been  accomplished  besides  the  loss 
of  a  high  C.  If  this  goes  on  much  longer,  I  shall 
write  Dan  myself  and  tell  him  the  truth.  It  is  just 
possible  that  he  might  bring  you  to  reason." 

No  one  looking  at  Kate  in  that  moment  could 
have  noticed  anything  except  her  eyes,  and  these 
eyes,  dilating  and  darkening,  were  fixed  upon 
Winifred's  face. 

"And  I  will  tell  him  how  imprudent  you  are 
about  going  out  alone,"  continued  Edith.  "  Win 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  prudence  in  her 
life,"  she  added,  addressing  Kate,  "and  if  she 
were  beautiful  she  would  have  been  in  trouble  more 
than  once.  Don't  look  surprised  !  She  knows  she 
29 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

is  not  beautiful,  and  does  n't  mind  at  all ;  do  you, 
Win?" 

Winifred  smiled.  "  I  never  think  of  it,"  she 
said. 

Then  Kate  spoke  with  a  bitterness  that  was  like 
the  escape  of  a  hidden  flame. 

"  If  you  were  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world,  you  would  n't  care  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  If 
you  had  the  greatest  gift  in  the  world,  and  the 
greatest  love  in  the  world,  still  you  would  n't  care !  " 

Winifred  looked  out  of  the  window  and  beyond 
the  housetops  to  the  clouds.  There  was  a  look  of 
far-away  things  in  her  eyes,  and  her  face  was 
shaded  with  that  gravity  which  Dan  loved  so  well 
to  see  there. 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  not  partly  right?"  she 
said. 

Kate  watched  her  with  tightening  lips.  "  Now 
I  know  why  he  loves  her,"  she  told  herself.  "  She 
has  something  most  of  us  lack  —  she  is  worthy  of 
him.  How  I  hate  her  !  " 

Then  Kate  took  her  leave  with  something  less 
than  her  usual  grace,  and  left  Edith  wondering 
over  her  abruptness,  her  odd  outbursts  of  bitter- 
ness and  passionate  weariness.  Kate  did  not  ap- 
pear to  the  world  like  this. 

More  self-absorbed  than  ever,  Winifred  relapsed 
30 


INTERLUDE 

into  the  surprised  and  somewhat  indignant  gloom 
with  which  she  met  these  first  checks  in  her  career. 

"  I  wonder  why  she  always  seems  to  dislike  you 
so  much?"  said  Edith  aloud. 

"I  have  sometimes  suspected  she  didn't  alto- 
gether like  me,"  observed  Winifred. 

"  Sometimes  suspected !  Good  heavens,  Win,  if 
I  did  n't  know  you  were  a  thousand  times  cleverer 
than  I  am,  I  should  often  say  you  were  positively 
stupid ! " 

31 


Chapter  III 
KATE 

MRS.  RANDOLPH  was  awaiting  her  daugh- 
ter's return  in  the  private  parlor,  au  pre- 
mier, of  the  Hotel  Westminster.  Mrs.  Randolph's 
face  expressed  a  grievance,  and  Kate,  when  she 
entered,  looked  tired  and  restless. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

Kate  was  conscious  of  the  grievance  and  the 
cause  of  it,  but  she  chose  to  ignore  both. 

"  I  stopped  at  the  Merediths',"  she  said  lightly. 

"Ah,  was  that  very  disagreeable  Winifred 
there  ?  " 

"  That  very  disagreeable  Winifred  was  there." 

"And  you  have  missed  a  visit  from  Lord  de 
Normandy." 

"  I  supposed  he  would  come,  after  his  note. 
Are  n't  you  going  to  give  me  some  tea,  mamma  ?  " 

The  grievance  was  very  evident  now.  "  What 
note,  Kate?" 

"  One  I  received  last  night.  I  knew  he  would 
32 


KATE 

come  this  afternoon,  and,  as  I  did  n't  wish  to  see 
him,  I  went  out." 

"  You  are  a  very  selfish  and  a  very  ungrateful 
daughter,"  Mrs.  Randolph  said,  with  some  excite- 
ment. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mamma,  but  I  cannot  marry  Lord 
de  Normandy.  What  did  he  say?  Was  he  try- 
ing?" 

"  Lord  de  Normandy  is  a  gentleman,  my  dear." 

"  Gentlemen  are  sometimes  trying.  What  did 
he  say?" 

"  He  felt  he  had  been  badly  treated,  and  he  is 
justified  in  feeling  so." 

"  I  don't  see  that  feeling  has  anything  to  do  with 
it,  mamma.  It 's  merely  a  question  of  American 
gold  versus  a  foreign  title ;  and  it  all  happened  a 
long  time  ago." 

"  We  talked  the  affair  over,  and  I  could  not  de- 
fend you,  though  you  are  my  own  child,"  continued 
Mrs.  Randolph.  "  When  it  came  to  your  promis- 
ing to  marry  him  one  morning,  and  taking  back 
your  word  that  very  evening,  for  a  mere  whim  — 
really,  Kate  "  — 

"  I  behaved  badly,  but  I  could  n't  help  it,"  said 
Kate  in  a  low  voice  of  growing  intensity. 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear ;  you  speak  like  a  child. 
33 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

He  could  not  be  persuaded  that  you  had  not  seen 
some  one  during  his  absence  who  had  influenced 
you.  I  told  him  you  were  alone  all  the  afternoon, 
but  I  remembered  afterwards  that  some  one  had 
been  sitting  in  the  garden  with  you.  I  think  it 
was  Dan." 

"  It  was  Dan,"  said  Kate. 

"  Yes,  it  comes  back  to  me  now,  for  you  sat  on 
the  grass  in  your  new  white  muslin,  and  ruined  it. 
I  remember  the  whole  circumstance.  Dan  laughed 
when  I  was  annoyed,  and  said  sitting  on  the  grass 
under  apple  blossoms  was  good  for  the  soul,  or 
something  equally  ridiculous." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Kate. 

"  Well,  my  child,  it  was  all  a  great  mistake,  and 
I  only  hope  you  will  think  things  over  carefully,  for 
Lord  de  Normandy  dines  with  us  to-morrow." 

"That  is  as  you  like,  mamma;  but  I  cannot 
marry  Lord  de  Normandy.  I  shall  not  marry  any 
one.  I  had  better  say  this  now,  so  that  we  may 
avoid  more  trouble.  I  tried  hard  to  marry  him, 
and  I  meant  to  do  so,  until  he  came  in  the  evening 
after  that  —  that  afternoon,  you  remember,  and 
then  I  knew  it  was  of  no  use  to  try  any  longer.  I 
cannot  marry." 

Kate's  face  was  pale,  and  certainly  she  was 
growing  very  odd.  Her  mother  realized  it  with 
34 


KATE 

resentment,  intensified  by  the  sense  of  her  helpless- 
ness. 

"You  are  mad,  Kate,"  she  said.  "You  are 
mad  and  reckless." 

"  I  should  be  worse  if  I  married." 

"  Kate !  For  what  have  I  brought  you  into  the 
world?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma.     I  often  wonder." 

In  her  own  room  Kate  flung  herself  face  down- 
ward on  the  bed. 

"  Winifred  does  not  care,"  she  said.  "  She  has 
what  no  other  woman  has,  and  does  n't  know  it. 
Some  day  she  will  find  out  what  the  world  is  worth, 
and  what  the  other  is  worth,  and  then  "  —  Kate 
turned  wearily  on  her  side.  "  I  wish  I  could  cry," 
she  said. 

35 


Chapter  IV 

NEAKING  THE  FIKST  MILESTONE 

rwas  two  years  later.  Madame  Alberto's  class 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  Winifred  was  sing- 
ing. The  other  pupils  were  seated  about  the  room, 
silent,  attentive,  their  faces  expressing  various 
degrees  of  wonder  and  reluctant  admiration.  Ma- 
dame Alberto  stood  with  her  baton  in  her  hand. 

"  (Test  une  voix  pa,"  she  said  in  an  aside  to  her 
pupils.  The  tone  implied  that  theirs  were  not 
voices  ;  but  they  felt  compelled  to  nod  smilingly. 

Winifred,  with  her  height,  her  distinction,  her 
talent,  was  queen  among  them,  and  wore  the  crown 
as  lightly  and  carelessly  as  all  else  that  came  to 
her. 

She  stood  now  with  her  hands  loosely  clasped, 
her  dark  eyes  on  the  treetops  seen  through  the 
window,  and  sang  on,  indifferent  alike  to  their 
jealousy  or  admiration.  The  aria  chosen  was  from 
an  Italian  opera ;  it  was  not  beautiful  music,  but 
it  charmed  the  senses,  and  confused  the  critical 
power  with  a  perfume,  a  suavite,  a  passionate, 
36 


NEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

sensuous  sweetness,  that  the  old  Italian  masters 
alone  had  at  their  command.  She  sang  with  the 
highly  colored  art  of  the  Italian  school,  and  her 
voice  bewildered  the  listeners  with  its  brilliancy 
and  purity.  The  cheapness  of  the  musical  climax 
was  forgotten  in  the  wonder  of  its  execution.  One 
listened,  breathless,  to  the  working  up  of  common- 
place cadences  that  led  to  the  inevitable  high  note, 
and  compelled  applause. 

Madame  looked  at  Winifred  critically. 

"  The  voice  is  glorious ;  you  have  rare  intelli- 
gence. Your  method  is  my  own ;  mais  —  il  y  a 
quelque  chose  qui  manque  id."  Madame  pointed 
to  her  heart. 

It  was  the  old  story,  and  Winifred  frowned  with 
helpless  impatience. 

"  I  have  it,"  cried  Madame  suddenly:  "you  must 
fall  in  love.  I  do  not  say  une  grande  passion,  but 
un  petit  sentiment,  just  to  fire  the  temperament, 
put  tears  in  the  voice.  Take  Bordeaux,  now  "  — 
Madame  pointed  to  the  accompanist,  a  little  man 
with  black  hair  and  mustache  —  "  take  Bordeaux, 
for  instance  ;  he  has  been  casting  eyes  at  you  this 
long  time." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this. 

"  It  is  only  for  Mademoiselle  to  say,"  Bordeaux 
replied  gallantly. 

37 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Winifred  just  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  then 
put  her  music  together  with  an  expression  of  cold 
disgust  on  her  face.  The  vulgar  brutality  of  the 
suggestion  would  have  angered  her  had  she  not  felt 
so  immeasurably  above  it. 

Madame's  expression  became  one  of  displeasure. 

"  Sapristi  I  You  Americans  are  intolerable. 
Wait  till  you  are  on  the  stage,  and  see  if  it  is  easy 
to  keep  the  airs  of  an  empress." 

"  The  next  lesson  is  at  ten,  is  it  not  ?  "  Winifred 
asked  quietly,  meeting  many  pairs  of  disapproving 
eyes  with  her  cool  New  England  gaze.  There  was 
even  a  smile  on  her  lips  as  she  left  the  room  with 
brief  words  of  farewell.  She  knew  she  had  made 
an  eternal  enemy  of  Bordeaux,  and  that  her  fellow 
pupils  had  been  enemies  from  the  first,  but  these 
facts  were  beneath  her  notice. 

As  she  walked  home  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
well-known  lane  that  led  from  Madame  Alberto's 
villa  to  her  own  lodgings,  she  remembered  that 
Dan  was  coming  in  a  day  or  two ;  and  as  it  was  by 
his  annual  visits  that  she  measured  her  progress 
on  the  road  to  fame,  she  thought  over  in  detail  the 
occurrences  of  the  past  few  months.  There  had 
been  much  success,  and  no  actual  failure ;  but  her 
serene  confidence  in  herself  was  becoming  troubled. 
As  Madame  had  said,  something  was  lacking. 


NEAEING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

While  it  had  been  a  question  of  mere  study,  she 
had  held  the  first  place ;  but  now  it  was  a  question 
of  artistic  completion,  and  there  were  those  with- 
out her  voice  or  intelligence  who  were  pleasing  the 
managers  that  passed  her  by.  Winifred  frowned 
at  the  thought,  but  held  her  head  defiantly  high. 
Her  eyes  expressed  indignation  and  surprise,  but 
no  discouragement. 

A  few  days  later  Dan  came.  She  was  unfeign- 
edly  glad  to  see  him. 

"  Dan  is  coming  to-day,  to-day, 
Dan  is  coming  to-day," 

she  caught  herself  singing  on  the  morning  of  his 
expected  arrival.  "  How  do  you  suppose  he  will 
look  ?  It  is  ages  and  ages  since  I  have  seen  him. 
I  wonder  if  he  will  find  me  changed  ?  And  will 
he  like  my  singing  ?  But  of  course  he  can't  help 
that." 

"  Really,  Win,  you  are  growing  insufferably 
conceited.  I  hope  he  will  not  —  and  will  you 
either  go  out  of  the  room  or  stop  talking.  I 
have  n't  been  allowed  to  write  a  straight  sentence 
during  the  last  half  hour." 

"  I  am  going  out  to  sit  on  the  doorsteps  in  the 
sun,"  said  Winifred.     "  Sitting  on  the  doorsteps  is 
a  solace  for  all  the  ills  of  existence." 
39 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

It  was  there  that  Dan  found  her,  and,  possessing 
himself  of  both  her  hands,  devoured  her  with  his 
eyes  in  a  silence  that  she  dared  not  break.  In  the 
strong  face,  almost  haggard  with  eagerness,  that 
bent  above  hers,  she  read  what  made  her  life  seem 
small. 

"  You  are  the  same,"  he  said  at  last,  "  only  a 
little  grave  just  now." 

"  You  make  me  so,  Dan,"  she  answered  very 
low,  not  trying  to  withdraw  her  hands.  Then,  with 
her  face  raised  to  his,  "  You  have  changed.  You 
look  as  if  you  had  been  fighting  battles,  and  con- 
quering." 

He  smiled.  "  The  hardest  fight  is  still  to  be  lost 
or  won,"  he  told  her. 

With  one  accord  they  turned  and  walked  through 
the  village  street,  and  beyond  to  the  sunny,  windy 
hillside.  Winifred  spoke  of  her  hopes,  her  plans, 
and  a  thousand  details  of  her  life,  while  he  listened 
eagerly,  scolding  her  now  and  then,  as  was  his 
wont,  but  generally  silent  in  the  strong  joy  of 
being  near  her.  When  she  talked  of  her  career, 
Dan  noticed  little  lines  between  her  eyebrows  that 
did  not  belong  to  the  Win  of  old. 

"  Something  is  wrong,"  he  told  himself ;  and 
very  soon  she  reluctantly  confessed. 

"  I  would  not  acknowledge  it  to  any  one  in  the 
40 


HEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

world  but  you,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  not  as  easy  as 
it  seemed ;  there  is  something  lacking,  not  in  my 
gifts,  but  in  me." 

Dan  generously  refrained  from  saying,  "  I  told 
you  so." 

"  I  can  command  admiration,  but  I  cannot  cap- 
ture enthusiasm,  except  by  a  high  note  every  now 
and  then.  The  public  don't  know  much,  but  they 
do  know  when  their  hearts  are  touched,  and  I  can- 
not reach  their  hearts." 

She  sighed  impatiently,  and  Dan  wondered  if 
the  years  were  not  taking  her  further  from  him. 

"  If  you  loved  your  art  for  its  own  sake,  I  should 
feel  better  about  it  all,"  he  said.  "  But  you  care 
only  for  such  power  and  success  as  you  can  get  out 
of  it,  not  for  anything  you  can  put  in." 

"  That  is  true,"  assented  Winifred  unexpectedly. 
"  Art  is  not  spelt  with  a  big  A  for  me.  But  I  do 
want  the  success." 

"  And  what  do  you  expect  to  get  from  the  suc- 
cess?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  am  going  to  find  out," 
she  said,  with  a  confident  ring  to  her  voice,  and  a 
glance  of  amused  defiance  at  the  man  by  her  side. 
Then  she  sighed  suddenly. 

"  The  other  day  a  little  girl  came  to  the  class," 
she  continued :  "  she  was  plain  and  ordinary,  her 
41 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  EOAD 

voice  had  neither  volume  nor  range ;  but  when  she 
sang  —  I  can't  describe  it,  but  the  pupils  were  in 
tears,  and  Madame  —  Madame  herself  could  not 
speak,  and  in  her  face  one  read  all  the  might- 
have-beens.  Think  of  it,  Dan  —  that  hardened  old 
woman." 

"  Did  you  cry  ?  "  questioned  Dan. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No ;  but  I  felt  so  many 
things  that  it  was  some  time  before  I  remembered 
to  wonder  why  I  could  n't  move  people  so." 

"  You  must  be  moved  yourself  first." 

"That  is  trite,  Dan." 

"  I  know ;  but  it 's  true." 

Winifred  set  her  lips.  "  I  believe  there  is  an- 
other way." 

"Very  well;  find  it  if  you  can.  Don't  look 
alarmed ;  I  am  not  going  to  recommend  myself  as 
a  medicine,  or  love  as  a  means  to  an  end.  But 
you  are  crude  still.  Some  day  an  awakening  will 
come,  and  you  must  suffer." 

"  Other  people  have  become  great  artists  without 
great  experience,"  she  persisted. 

"Were  they  New  Englanders?  Were  reserve 
and  self-restraint  the  watchwords  of  their  natures  ? 
You,  of  all  women  I  know,  were  born  and  nurtured 
amidst  ice-fields  and  granite.  Your  real  nature  has 
the  depth  and  stillness  and  mystery  of  the  northern 
42 


NEAKING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

night.  You  have  given  me  glimpses  of  it  now  and 
then,  but  as  a  rule  it  is  as  difficult  for  you  to 
express  real  self  as  it  is  for  any  man.  When  ice- 
fields melt,  the  floods  are  so  great  that  nothing  can 
stand  before  them ;  but  in  the  meantime  don't  be 
surprised  that  you  cannot  express  yourself  in  arie 
and  ballads." 

Winifred  thought  deeply,  with  troubled  brows. 

"  But  I  am  not  convinced,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  not.  You  think  I  am  talking  fanci- 
fully. Please  remember  that  I  am  a  hard-headed 
lawyer ;  facts  and  logic  are  my  livelihood,  so  when 
I  choose  to  come  down,  or  up,  whichever  you  will, 
to  metaphor,  I  do  not  do  so  without  reason,  and 
am  entitled  to  respect.  You  will  know  that  I  am 
right  some  day." 

Dan's  visit  was  a  short  one,  but  he  made  the 
best  of  it.  Madame  Alberto  obligingly  took  to 
her  bed  with  a  cold,  and  singing  lessons  were  sus- 
pended. 

"  Why  did  n't  Mr.  Garrison  come  with  you  ?  I 
think  he  said  something  to  Edith  about  joining  us 
again  this  summer,"  asked  Winifred  once. 

Dan  looked  at  her  suddenly.  "  Did  he,  though  ?  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  He  said  nothing  to  me  of  it. 
Were  they  especially  good  friends  last  year  ?  " 

"  I  never  noticed,"  said  Winifred.  "  Yes,  they 
43 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

were  together  a  good  deal;  but  I  don't  think  it 
meant  anything." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Dan.  "  In  the 
dim  ages  before  Walter  saw  the  light  of  this  planet, 
a  woman  must  have  buckled  on  his  soul's  armor. 
He  has  been  unconsciously  hunting  for  her  all  his 
life,  and  when  he  looks  at  your  sister  there  is  some- 
thing in  his  eyes  which  makes  me  think  that  he  has 
found  her  now !  " 

"  I  never  noticed  it,"  said  Winifred  again. 

On  the  last  day  of  his  stay  Dan  became  restive 
and  hard  to  please. 

"  Who  is  that  Austrian  beast  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  don't  like  the  way 
he  looks  at  you.  He  has  passed  your  house  several 
times." 

Winifred  colored  angrily.  "It  must  be  von 
Reidnitz,"  she  said. 

"  And  who  is  von  Reidnitz  ?  " 

"  One  of  Madame's  pupils." 

"  Why  does  he  look  at  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine  —  can  you  ?  " 

"  Win,  that  man  has  annoyed  you." 

"  A  little.  Dan,  don't  look  so."  There  was  & 
furious  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"The  creature  is  following  us;  wait  for  me 
here." 

44 


NEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

"  Don't,  don't  —  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

He  strode  back  to  von  Reidnitz,  and  after  a  few 
words  returned  to  Winifred  with  a  slightly  relieved 
countenance. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  told  him  that  if  I  heard  of  his  troubling  you 
again  I  should  be  unable  to  deny  myself  the  plea- 
sure of  dropping  him  into  the  lake." 

She  laughed.  "  I  am  glad  you  said  it ;  but  he 
is  n't  worth  much  disturbance." 

Rage  was  still  in  Dan's  eyes. 

"  To  think  that  you  —  you  —  should  subject 
yourself  to  things  of  this  kind." 

"  But  they  don't  hurt  me." 

He  muttered  something  about  a  stain  on  a  lily. 
Winifred  raised  her  head  proudly.  "This  stage 
life  is  hell,"  he  went  on.  "A  woman  can't  go 
through  it  and  " — 

"  Stop,  Dan !  "  Her  clear  eyes  met  his  without 
a  tremor,  and  his  anger  fell. 

"I  think  I  am  a  little  ashamed  of  you,"  she 
said. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  he  protested  helplessly. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  It  is  you  who  do  not  understand. 
No  soul  is  moved  by  what  it  does  not  possess,  and 
I —  I  thought  you  knew  me  better,  Dan." 

He  was  silent.  Surely  the  woman  who  dared 
45 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  KOAD 

speak  so  with  clear,  unfaltering  eyes  raised  to  his, 
was  worthy  of  a  lifetime's  love  and  reverence. 

For  a  longer  time  than  usual  they  walked  in 
silence.  Then  he  made  her  talk  of  herself,  as  he 
was  never  tired  of  doing;  but  the  details  of  her 
life  made  him  frown. 

*'  It  all  seems  unworthy  of  you,  somehow,"  he  pro- 
tested. "  Even  the  music  you  sing  is  trash  "  — 

"  The  art  with  which  I  sing  it  is  not  trash,"  she 
interrupted. 

"  Even  the  music  is  trash,  and  you  know  it,  but 
go  on  because  you  win  admiration.  And  how  long 
do  you  think  admiration  is  going  to  satisfy  you? 
Do  you  think  you  can  starve  your  heart  and  your 
brain  forever?  All  this  excitement  and  bidding 
for  adulation  is  cheapening ;  it  will  cheapen  even 
you  in  the  end.  Turn  off  the  gas,  Win  ;  turn  off 
the  gas,  and  let  the  stars  shine." 

"  If  you  think  me  capable  of  all  this  worthless- 
ness,"  said  Win,  "why  do  you  —  why  do  you"  — 

"Why  do  I  love  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Primarily  because  you  are  you,  I  suppose." 

"  That  is  no  reason." 

"  It  is  enough  for  me,"  he  said  doggedly ;  and 
then  added,  half  smiling,  "  I  suppose  I  love  you  for 
the  possibilities  of  that  empty  heart  and  brain." 
46 


NEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

"Winifred's  eyes  were  mischievous. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  being  loved  for  my 
possibilities,"  she  said. 

Twilight  found  them  at  a  remote  Gasthaus  high 
among  the  mountains.  Winifred  sat  on  the  ter- 
race, idly  watching  the  clouds  trail  their  gray  edges 
over  silent  hills,  while  Dan  went  to  make  inquiries 
as  to  their  whereabouts.  His  words  and  tones 
floated  through  her  consciousness,  and  in  this  quiet 
hour  she  could  stand  face  to  face  with  her  soul, 
and  know,  as  in  the  depths  of  her  being  she  always 
knew,  that  he  was  right. 

He  loomed  up  before  her  suddenly,  looking  some- 
what grim  through  the  dusk. 

"  We  must  take  a  carriage  back,"  he  said.  "  And 
while  they  are  tackling  you  had  better  come  in  and 
have  something  warm  to  drink.  It  will  be  cold, 
driving." 

In  a  dimly  lighted  room  she  sipped  coffee,  and 
watched  him  play  with  a  tiny  crippled  boy,  who 
seemed  to  belong  to  the  inn.  The  child  had  pre- 
ternaturally  large  eyes,  grown  grave  through  that 
most  pitifid  of  all  things  in  the  world,  childish  pain. 
At  first  he  was  chary  of  accepting  this  very  tall 
stranger's  advances  ;  but  Dan's  manner  with  chil- 
dren was  not  to  be  resisted,  and  very  soon  he  lifted 
the  frail  little  form  from  its  chair,  and  the  child 
47 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  EOAD 

nestled  confidingly  into  arms  at  once  so  gentle  and 
so  strong.  Before  the  time  came  to  go,  Dan  had 
brought  a  light  to  the  wan  face,  and  uncertain 
childish  laughter  echoed  through  the  room. 

Winifred  left  her  coffee  half  finished. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  into  seri- 
ous eyes  while  he  fastened  her  cloak. 

"  You  make  me  ashamed,  Dan,"  she  said  very 
low. 

"Ashamed— you?" 

"  Yes.  I  could  not  have  spoken  to,  or  touched 
that  child  as  you  did.  You  teach  tenderness  to  me 
—  you,  a  man,  and  I  am  ashamed.  How  did  you 
learn  it?" 

"  Through  loving  you." 

For  a  moment  they  stood  so  in  the  dim  room, 
her  eyes  meeting  and  questioning  his.  Then  they 
went  out  into  the  night,  and  very  silently  drove 
down  through  the  cool,  damp  darkness.  There  was 
a  sound  of  running  streams,  and  the  air  was  pun- 
gent with  the  odor  of  pine  and  balsam.  The  great 
mountain  loomed  black  against  a  sky  brightened 
by  the  rising  moon,  and  over  the  still,  dark  world 
mists  trailed  and  lingered  caressingly. 

Winifred  leaned  back,  her  face  turned  to  the 
stars.  In  her  eyes  was  something  of  awe  and  of 
wonder.  Dan  bent  once  and  put  his  coat  about 
48 


NEARING  THE  FIRST  MILESTONE 

her,  and  his  silent  action  changed  the  mental  at- 
mosphere. The  silence  between  them  became  elec- 
tric with  unuttered  words. 

" '  Ye  have  taught  my  lips  one  single  speech,  and 
a  thousand  silences,'  "  he  said  to  her  at  last.  "  I 
know  you  best  in  your  silent  moments,  Win." 

She  turned  towards  him,  and  her  eyes  met  his. 

"  You  are  wondering  if  you  will  tell  me  that  the 
silences  are  all  mine,"  he  continued.  "You  need 
n't ;  for  I  know  it." 

Then  for  another  time  they  drove  under  the  re- 
mote, solemn  stars,  without  words  passing  between 
them. 

Before  long  the  moon  floated  up  from  behind  the 
mountain,  drowning  the  stars,  and  flooding  the  val- 
ley with  mystic  light.  The  mists  passed  away  from 
the  earth,  and  many  lights  twinkled  from  the  village 
beneath. 

"  We  are  almost  there,"  said  Win. 

"  We  are  almost  there,"  he  repeated.  "  And  I 
am  going  away  to-morrow." 

The  driver  was  sleepy.  He  nodded  on  his  seat, 
and  the  horses  jogged  lazily  through  a  silent  village 
street,  and  out  into  the  open  fields  again. 

"  Win  !  "     His  eyes,  dark   and   stern,   claimed 
hers.     "  How  many  more  times  am  I  to  come  and 
go,  before  you  go  with  me  ?  " 
49 


:  THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Winifred  moved  restlessly.  "  I  have  never  given 
you  the  right  to  say  I  would  some  day  go  with  you." 

"  I  have  taken  the  right." 

She  met  his  eyes  bravely. 

"  I  do  not  love  you  —  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever 
shall." 

"  But  I  know.  You  may  try  the  life  you  have 
chosen,  but  you  cannot  starve  your  brain  or  silence 
your  heart  forever.  You  will  reap  as  you  have 
sown,  but  the  harvest  will  be  bitter,  and  then  I 
shall  claim  you  by  the  right  and  might  of  my  love." 
His  face,  stern  with  passion,  was  close  to  hers. 
"  Winifred,  Winifred,  how  long  are  you  going  to 
keep  me  waiting  ?  " 

Something  moved  within  her  as  a  sleeper  moves 
in  his  dream.  His  words  and  tones  rang  with  con- 
quering manhood. 

"  Win,  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  I  love  you ! 
Sooner  or  later  you  will  leave  all  and  come  to  me. 
How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  me  waiting  ?  God 
help  me  —  how  I  love  you!"  He  took  her  into 
his  arms,  and  though  she  would  have  struggled 
against  the  strange  compelling  power  of  his  plead- 
ing, she  lay  almost  passive  in  his  clasp. 

"  Dan,  I  can't  —  I  can't  —  I  am  not  ready  — 
yet,"  she  whispered. 

50 


Chapter  V 

DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM 

irrOR  several  days  after  Dan's  departure  Wini- 
JL  fred  was  unusually  silent.  Edith  shrewdly 
suspected  that  he  had  been  troublesome  the  night 
of  the  drive,  for  Winifred  had  come  in  alone,  look- 
ing pale  and  shaken  out  of  her  habitually  careless 
gayety,  and  Dan  had  not  appeared  to  say  good-by 
the  next  morning.  It  was  several  days  before 
Edith  found  courage  to  mention  his  name. 

"Dan  was  looking  older,"  she  remarked  one 
morning,  tentatively. 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  answered  Winifred  with 
some  sharpness.  "  He  is  only  thirty-one." 

"  I  only  said  he  looked  older  —  not  old.  I  sup- 
pose you  will  allow  that  even  I  look  older  than 
when  I  was  eighteen." 

"  He  looked  tired.  I  think  he  is  working  too 
hard,"  admitted  Winifred. 

Edith  hesitated.  "  Did  he  ever  say  anything 
about  Mr.  Garrison  ? "  she  asked,  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  indifference. 

51 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"I  must  write  him  not  to  work  so  hard,"  said 
Winifred,  ignoring  her  sister's  remark.  "  He  cer- 
tainly has  changed  in  some  way.  I  noticed  it  at 
once.  The  lines  in  his  face  have  worn  deeper;  but 
more  with  strength  than  with  years,  I  think." 

In  the  mean  time,  Dan  was  making  the  best  of 
the  long  journey  to  Paris.  Sunk  in  the  dark  cor- 
ner of  a  compartment,  he  thought  of  Winifred,  her 
vividness,  her  gallant,  joyous  bearing,  and  more 
than  all  he  thought  of  the  hints  of  deep  and  per- 
fect womanhood  he  caught  now  and  then  in  her 
eyes  and  voice.  At  Paris,  he  found  a  letter  from 
her,  written  the  day  after  his  departure. 

"  I  lay  awake  nearly  an  hour  last  night,  worry- 
ing," she  wrote.  Dan  smiled,  remembering  the 
entire  nights  he  had  lain  awake  thinking  of  her. 
"  And  this  morning,  I  am  more  than  ever  troubled 
for  fear  that  you  have  taken  false  meaning  from 
my  last  words.  You  wrung  them  from  me,  for  I 
am  not  altogether  a  stone,  and  I  don't  believe  the 
woman  lives  whom  you  could  not  move.  I  was  at 
high  pressure,  almost  breaking  pressure,  when  I 
spoke  them.  Under  the  stars  it  is  easy  to  believe 
in  shadows.  This  morning,  in  broad,  positive  day- 
light, I  see  myself  as  I  am.  It  is  no  use,  Dan. 
Your  love  for  me  is  the  greatest  honor  in  my  life, 
but  I  can't  live  up  to  it  or  satisfy  it.  You  love  me 
52 


DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM 

partly  for  what  is  in  yourself,  partly  for  what  I  am 
not.  I  can't  change  —  I  don't  wish  to.  I  am 
young,  happy,  successful.  You  tell  me  of  myste- 
ries beyond  my  horizon  line.  I  do  not  believe  in 
them.  You  tell  me  the  flood  tide  of  a  woman's 
life  reflects  the  lives  of  others,  and  I  do  not  wish 
to  believe  it.  I  want  life !  life !  life !  for  myself,  — 
for  myself,  Dan.  It  is  my  hands  that  feel,  my  eyes 
that  see  ;  what  do  I  know  of  others  ?  It  is  /  that 
enjoy,  or  suffer,  or  struggle,  not  somebody  else.  I 
want  all  of  life  there  is  to  be  had,  every  drop  and 
dreg,  and  I  want  it  for  myself.  Please  understand, 
once  for  all,  Dan,  I  want  it  for  myself. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  unkind  to  speak  so  strongly. 
The  kindest  thing  of  all  would  be  for  me  to  stop 
our  friendship ;  but  I  can't  do  it,  partly  because 
you  will  not  yield,  partly  because  I  am  selfish,  and 
your  friendship  is  the  only  one  in  the  world  that 
means  anything  to  me." 

Dan  buttoned  this  discouraging  epistle  under  his 
breast  pocket,  and  smiled  a  smile  of  quiet  mastery. 
He  did  not  answer  her  at  length. 

"Dear  child,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  it," 
he  wrote.  "  Your  letter -makes  me  feel  how  young 
you  are,  and  I  am  sad  when  I  think  of  what  must 
come  to  you  before  your  plucky  spirit  will  bend. 
"We  are  all  tried  by  flood  and  fire  sooner  or  later,  and 
53 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

the  misfortune  is  generally  fitted  to  the  size  of  the 
soul  that  knows  it." 

During  the  voyage  home  Dan  thought  constantly 
of  how  young  she  was,  how  much  younger  than 
himself,  though  there  were  only  seven  years  be- 
tween them.  He  wondered,  and  then  laughed  at 
himself  for  wondering,  if  an  odd  tired  feeling  in 
his  head  and  eyes  meant  that  he  was  growing  old, 
or  was  only  overworked.  Certainly  he  found  the 
quiet  of  an  Atlantic  voyage  infinitely  refreshing, 
and  went  back  to  Garrison  and  his  winter  quarters 
in  good  spirits. 

The  first  evening  was  cold,  and  both  men  sat 
smoking  over  a  wood  fire.  They  talked  with  a  cer- 
tain indifference  of  their  vacations,  which  had  been 
spent  in  different  parts  of  Europe. 

"  Did  you  finally  get  to  the  Tyrol?  "  asked  Wal- 
ter. 

His  friend  glanced  at  him  keenly.  "  Yes.  Why 
would  n't  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

Walter  leaned  over  and  knocked  the  ashes  out 
of  his  pipe.  Some  moments  elapsed  before  he  said 
very  slowly :  — 

"  It  seemed  best  not —  this  time." 

"  I  wondered  if  that  were  the  reason." 

"  That  was  the  reason,"  he  answered  quietly. 

For  a  little  while  the  two  men  smoked  in  silence. 
54 


DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM 

They  understood  one  another,  and  being  men, 
words  were  superfluous.  Dan  spoke  first. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  largely  a  question  of  money  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  entirely  a  question  of  money  before 
it  can  be  a  question  of  —  her." 

Again  it  did  not  seem  necessary  for  Dan  to  say 
that  he  agreed  with  him. 

"  How  much  are  you  making  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  bare  eight  hundred." 

After  another  pause  Dan  rose  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  Providence  needs  guiding,"  he  said.  "  I 
make  more  than  I  can  spend,  and  have  no  use 
for  it." 

With  the  beginning  of  winter  Walter  Garrison 
went  back  to  his  business  and  plodded  on  doggedly 
after  his  usual  fashion.  He  watched  with  an  ach- 
ing heart  for  advancement  which  never  came. 

Dan's  season  began  brilliantly.  He  was  grow- 
ing to  be  feared  by  some,  admired  by  many,  loved 
by  a  few.  In  no  case  was  he  ignored.  Resolutely 
and  confidently  did  he  walk  the  road  he  had  chosen. 
With  unflinching  eyes  did  he  look  into  the  years 
to  come,  audaciously  challenging  their  power  to 
give  him  other  than  what  he  wished.  He  feared 
nothing,  believing  that  a  man  holds  his  success  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  having  conquered  so 
much,  it  was  easy  to  believe  that  the  woman  with- 
55 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

out  whom  all  else  must  be  as  nothing  would  some 
day  be  his  also. 

It  was  almost  imperceptibly  that  he  first  came 
to  a  consciousness  of  unusual  effort  in  his  work. 
Night  hours  especially  were  exhausting  to  his  eyes 
and  brain. 

"  Am  I  ill,  or  growing  old  ?  "  he  asked  himself 
indignantly. 

One  night,  Walter  came  in  from  the  theatre 
about  eleven,  to  find  the  light  out  in  the  study  and 
Dan  smoking  by  the  fire. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  loafing  for  ?  "  he  asked 
him,  turning  up  the  gas. 

Dan  rose  impatiently.  "  I  can't  seem  to  manage 
night  hours,"  he  said.  "  There 's  something  wrong 
with  my  head.  I  think  it 's  neuralgia." 

"  Perhaps  it 's  astigmatism,"  suggested  Garrison. 
"  Why  not  consult  an  oculist  ?  " 

"  Bah !  There  's  nothing  wrong  with  my  eyes, 
and  I  don't  like  oculists.  My  uncle  went  blind 
when  I  was  a  boy  and  drowned  himself  in  a  mill- 
pond.  I  used  to  think  the  oculist  had  something 
to  do  with  it,  and  the  memory  of  the  man's  face 
frightened  me  more  than  tales  of  ghosts  carrying 
their  heads  in  their  hands." 

"  You  don't  look   overworked,"  said   Garrison, 
reverting  to  the  original  point. 
56 


DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM 

"  I  am  not  overworked.  I  never  felt  better  in 
my  life." 

"  Sometimes  a  pair  of  glasses  is  all  one  needs 
for  pain  in  the  head,"  he  persisted  quietly. 

"Glasses!"  Dan  laughed  contemptuously.  "No, 
there  's  nothing  wrong  ;  if  I  am  not  all  right  soon 
I  '11  get  a  prescription  for  neuralgia." 

For  awhile  Walter  heard  no  more  of  the  matter. 
He  noticed  that  Dan  had  a  worn  look  unusual  to 
him,  and  that  his  temper  was  increasingly  short, 
but  he  made  no  further  allusion  to  his  trouble, 
knowing  that  what  Dan  chose  to  say  he  would  say 
without  being  questioned. 

The  evening  work  went  on  as  before,  till  one 
night  when  Walter  was  disturbed  by  a  constant 
tramp  of  heavy  footsteps  in  the  study. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  up  to  ? "  he  called 
sleepily. 

"  I  am  up  to  nothing,"  answered  Dan's  voice 
with  uncalled-for  gruffness. 

"  Then  keep  quiet ;  other  people  want  to  sleep  if 
you  don't." 

After  that  he  remembered  nothing  till  he  met 
Howard  in  the  morning. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  reason  were  you  doing 
last  night  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  could  n't  sleep,"  answered  Dan ;  "  there  was 
57 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

a  hideous  pain  in  my  head  which  had  to  be  walked 
into  submission." 

Walter  looked  at  him  narrowly  and  saw  that  he 
did  not  look  right. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  lifetime,  it  seems.     It  began  last  winter." 

"  Better  go  to  the  doctor." 

"  I  mean  to.     What  are  Randolph's  hours  ?  " 

"  From  two  to  four,  I  think.  So  it  is  to  be  an 
oculist  after  all  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  trouble  is  with  my  eyes.  I  've  known 
that  all  along." 

After  breakfast  he  felt  sufficiently  fortified  to 
laugh  at  pains  and  doctors. 

"  Meet  me  at  the  club  for  luncheon.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  '11  go  to  the  doctor  after  all,"  he  called  to 
Walter,  and  went  his  way  down  town,  walking 
vigorously  through  the  cold. 

Walter  watched  his  friend  tramping  down  the 
hill.  "  What  a  splendid  specimen  of  manhood  he 
is !  "  he  thought ;  "  all  the  same  I  don't  like  his 
looks." 

During  the  morning  Dan  looked  in  at  Garrison's 
office. 

"  Don't  expect  me  for  luncheon.  I  am  going  to 
Randolph's  and  may  be  kept  hours." 

"  Got  the  jumps  again  ?  "  queried  Walter. 
58 


DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOR  HIM 

Dan  nodded  and  disappeared. 

Walter  got  home  early.  He  had  been  haunted 
by  the  possibility  of  Dan's  being  obliged  to  knock 
off  work.  "  He  won't  take  easily  to  limitations," 
he  thought,  as  he  opened  the  study  door.  It  was 
not  too  dark  to  see  that  Dan  sat  alone,  without  the 
comfort  of  pipe  or  fire. 

"Well,  what's  the  verdict?"  Walter  asked 
with  an  attempt  at  cheer  which  felt  oddly  unnat- 
ural. "  You  don't  look  festive ;  let 's  have  a  light." 

Dan  winced  as  the  gas  flared  up. 

"  You  damn  fool,  can't  you  see  you  're  putting 
my  eyes  out?  "  he  cried  savagely. 

Walter  paused  in  amazement,  the  lighted  match 
still  in  his  hand.  He  saw  that  Dan's  face  was  gray 
and  running  with  perspiration.  "  For  God's  sake, 
man,  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  going  blind,"  said  Dan. 

"Blind  —  you" —  Walter  repeated  the  words 
dully.  He  had  a  sense  of  being  confronted  with 
something  his  imagination  could  not  grasp. 

Dan  rose  heavily  and  with  a  shaking  hand  poured 
himself  out  a  glass  of  whiskey.  "  I  've  taken  enough 
of  this  stuff  to  give  me  D.  T.'s,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
can't  even  get  confused." 

"  I  guess  you  've  had  all  you  want  now,"  said 
Walter,  removing  a  nearly  empty  bottle  to  the  side- 
59 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

board.  Then  he  felt  the  need  of  sitting  down. 
He  looked  at  Dan,  and  Dan  stared  back  at  him 
with  haggard  eyes  in  which  there  was  deadly  fear. 

"  You  say  you  are  going  to  be  — blind  ?  " 

Dan  nodded.  "  That 's  it.  My  sight  may  not 
hold  out  through  the  year.  What  do  you  think  of 
it  ?  "  he  asked  grimly. 

Walter  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  My  God !  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  've  been  doing  that  all  the  after- 
noon, and  it 's  no  use."  Dan  kicked  a  chair  out 
of  the  way  and  began  pacing  the  room.  "  It 's 
hell,  thunder,  fire,  and  all  the  devils,"  he  went  on, 
"  but  there  's  no  escape." 

"  Did  n't  the  doctor  give  hope?  " 

"  None.  I  was  a  doomed  man  six  months  ago. 
It's  my  uncle's  trouble,  and  I  thought  I  could 
choose  my  own  life !  The  Fates  must  find  a 
good  deal  to  laugh  at,  if  they  have  any  sense  of 
humor." 

Walter  did  not  answer.  As  yet  he  loved  no 
woman  as  he  loved  Dan  Howard.  There  was  a 
silence,  and  then  Dan  stood  above  him  laughing. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  going  blind  yourself, 
old  boy,"  he  said.     "Come,  buck  up.     I'll  be  a 
man  till  the  light  goes,  and  then  you  can  make  it 
all  right  by  giving  me  a  knock  on  the  head." 
60 


DAN'S  PATH  IS  CHOSEN  FOK  HIM 

"Stop  talking  that  rot,"  said  Walter,  as  he  forced 
Dan  into  a  chair.  "And  don't  take  any  more  whis- 
key—  we  need  clear  heads." 

Dan  tried  to  square  his  shoulders.  "  I  am  not 
going  to  funk,  Wally.  I  shall  come  round  in  a 
day  or  so ;  only  when  a  man  has  received  a  blow 
between  the  eyes  he  can't  see  straight  right  off. 
You'll  allow  that  to  be  left  in  the  dark  is  not 
cheering." 

He  spoke  with  laboring  breath,  and  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead. 

"  I  am  no  coward,"  he  said,  "  but  to  be  blind  — 
not  to  know  noon  from  midnight  —  to  become  ab- 
ject, helpless,  pitiable  —  to  be  blind  —  My  God 
—  I  am  afraid." 

61 


Chapter  YI 

REALIZATION 

IF  there  is  help  in  the  mind  of  any  man,  in  the 
wisdom  of  the  ages,  or  in  the  earth  or  in  the 
heavens,  I  am  going  to  find  it,"  said  Dan  a  few 
days  later.  He  spoke  in  a  voice  that  grated,  and 
the  lines  in  his  face  were  deep  and  harsh.  Walter 
stood  opposite. 

"  The  greatest  oculist  in  the  world  does  n't 
practice  any  more,"  he  said  with  dreary  hopeless- 
ness. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  Dan. 

"  San  Francisco." 

Dan  consulted  a  time-table." 

"  I  can  leave  to-morrow  morning." 

"  But  he  won't  see  you." 

"  Can  you  get  me  his  address  ?  " 

"  Randolph  has  it.  But  what 's  the  use  ?  He 
won't  see  you,"  Walter  persisted,  with  dull  ob- 
stinacy. 

"  If  you  say  that  again  I  '11  throw  you  out  of  the 
window.  He  will  have  to  see  me." 


REALIZATION 

A  valise  was  packed  in  feverish  haste  while 
Walter  looked  on. 

"  What  are  you  loafing  round  here  for  ?  "  Dan 
inquired  at  last,  exasperated  by  his  friend's  inar- 
ticulate sympathy. 

"  There  is  nothing  going  on  at  the  office." 

"  I  don't  believe  it."  Dan  was  wrestling  with 
shirtstuds  and  an  over-stiff  collar. 

"  I  know  I  am  not  much  good,"  said  Walter, 
"  but  you  can  use  me  to  blow  off  steam  on." 

If  Dan  was  touched  he  did  not  show  it. 

"  I  could  n't  read  the  quotations  of  the  stock 
exchange  this  morning,"  he  remarked  a  little  later, 
and  then  paused  with  lowering  brows.  "  The 
doctor  won't  fix  a  time  limit,"  he  continued.  "  It 
may  come  soon." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  with  you  ?  "  Walter 
asked  eagerly. 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  need  a  keeper  yet."  Dan 
looked  at  his  friend  with  ill-concealed  ferocity. 
"  Damn  it  all,  Walter,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 
Do  you  expect  me  to  go  blind  on  the  journey  ?  " 

"  No,  but  you  just  said  "  — 

"  Never  mind  what  I  said,  and  keep  your  con- 
founded croaking  to  yourself."  Dan  sat  down  for 
a  moment,  and  wiped  his  forehead  with  an  un- 
steady hand.  Then  out  of  a  drawer  he  took  a 
63 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

heavy  pistol  and  balanced  it  in  his  hand.  "  If  one 
were  a  coward,  how  simple  the  way  out  of  the  fight 
would  be!  "  he  observed. 

"  But  you  are  not  a  coward." 

"It  would  be  interesting  to  find  out."  He 
moved  toward  his  valise. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  take  it  with  you !  " 

"  Your  voice  is  anxious,  Wally ;  that  settles  it ; 
the  pistol  goes." 

Walter's  long-suffering  patience  gave  way. 

"Are  you  a  child,  to  indulge  in  such  bravado  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  Give  that  infernal  thing  to  me." 

"  Take  your  hand  away  or  it  will  go  hard  with 
you."  There  was  a  moment's  struggle,  while  the 
men  breathed  heavily ;  then  Dan  stowed  the  pistol 
away  in  his  bag. 

"The  bravado  amuses  me,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  It 's  not  my  fault  if  your  sense  of  humor  is 
defective." 

A  few  minutes  before  the  Chicago  express  left 
the  city,  Walter  hurried  through  the  car  in  search 
of  Dan.  "I  have  just  met  Randolph,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  He  did  n't  approve  of  your  going  west 
—  said  the  journey  would  be  bad,  and  told  me 
you  must  n't  read  a  word  or  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow overmuch,  and  guard,  above  all,  against  glare 
64 


KEALIZATION 

from  the  snow.  He  suggested  a  dark  corner  of 
the  car,  or  blue  glasses." 

Dan  laughed  shortly.  "  Are  we  men,  or  slaves  ?  " 
he  said.  "  And  how  am  I  to  get  the  glasses  at 
this  hour?" 

"I  had  time  to  buy  them  as  I  came  along." 
Walter  handed  over  his  purchase,  which  Dan  sur- 
veyed with  a  twisted  smile. 

"  I  don't  like  their  looks,"  he  said,  "  but  it  was 
good  of  you  to  get  them,  Wally.  I  have  been  a 
brute  these  last  days,  but—  Well,  the  fight  is 
about  as  hot  as  I  can  stand  it." 

"  I  know  it,  old  man.  Trample  on  me  all  you 
want,  if  it  relieves  you.  God  knows  I  would  "  — 
The  sentence  was  finished  by  a  silent  hand  grip. 
"But  I  should  be  happier  if  you  hadn't  taken 
the  pistol,"  he  added. 

"You  will  find  it  on  the  smoking-table  when 
you  get  home,"  said  Dan.  "  I  left  it  as  a  legacy 
in  case  I  got  smashed  up.  You  blessed  old  idiot, 
what  did  you  think  I  was  taking  it  for  ?  " 

"  To  torment  me,  I  suppose." 

"  Exactly ;  but  you  looked  so  superlatively  mis- 
erable about  it  that  I  had  n't  the  heart  —  only  I 
am  sorry  you  thought  I  was  going  to  funk." 

The  journey  seemed  to  Dan  a  desperate  run  for 
the  light,  a  race  in  which  every  hour  increased  the 
65 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  KOAD 

chance  of  loss.  In  the  darkness  and  solitude  of  a 
private  room  he  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands 
trying  to  think  clearly.  But  visions  of  Winifred's 
face  confused  him,  and  from  the  dread  and  horror 
of  his  probable  future  there  was  no  escape.  After 
a  night  in  which  broken  sleep  brought  no  f  orget- 
f  ulness,  it  came  to  him  that  the  dark  was  no  longer 
bearable,  and  as  he  must  undoubtedly  go  blind  in 
spite  of  the  San  Francisco  doctor,  it  would  be  well 
to  see  while  he  might.  So  he  pushed  up  the  cur- 
tain and  took  cognizance  of  men  and  things.  To 
his  tortured  consciousness  the  world  assumed  the 
qualities  of  nightmare.  Chicago  seemed  a  mighty 
and  a  hideous  city,  where  an  eager  life  roared  in 
canon-like  depths,  and  huge  buildings  loomed  dark 
and  ominous  against  the  sky.  The  train,  shrieking, 
quivering,  panting  as  if  goaded  by  intolerable  fear, 
rushed  from  the  cavernous  station  into  the  mo- 
notony of  farms  and  grainfields.  Then  came  more 
thoughts  of  Winifred,  more  visions  of  the  future. 
The  miles  were  hemispheres,  the  hours  years.  As- 
suredly the  doctor  would  die  before  he  could  be 
reached,  and  every  moment  brought  increasing 
certainty  of  blindness.  He  tried  to  imagine  how 
it  would  be,  and  when  the  realization  assumed  a 
certain  degree  of  distinctness,  the  perspiration 
66 


REALIZATION 

would  break  out  on  him  and  his  hands  shake  like 
a  woman's. 

The  next  day  the  Missouri  River  was  passed, 
but  the  Pacific  coast  seemed  as  distant  as  ever. 
Now  he  was  in  the  prairies,  and  with  breathless 
haste  the  train  sped  onward  through  a  level,  color- 
less world,  where  there  was  neither  wind  nor  sun, 
nor  tree  nor  stream,  where  life  was  hushed  and 
strife  was  futile,  and  anguish  would  be  lost.  At 
intervals  of  a  hundred  miles  or  so,  some  houses 
huddled  together  in  fear  of  the  loneliness. 

All  that  afternoon  Dan  thought  of  Winifred 
and  what  might  have  been. 

After  dark  the  cold  became  intense,  and  through 
wind  and  snow  and  fitful  moonlight,  two  gasping, 
struggling  engines  drew  the  train  up  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  Dan  slept  brokenly,  oppressed  by  a 
sense  of  gigantic  effort  in  his  progress,  which  de- 
creased chances  of  salvation.  But  assuredly  Wini- 
fred would  come  before  the  end.  At  last  he  felt 
her  hand,  and  heard  her  voice  saying,  "Never  mind 
the  dark,  Dan,  I  shall  always  be  here." 

The  morning  light  showed  him  the  summit  of 

the  Rockies,  —  a  strange,  desolate   spot,  without 

grandeur  or  beauty,  where   huge  rocks,  hideous, 

naked,   distorted,  loomed  against  the  sky.     Dan 

67 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

looked  with  hatred  and  dread  in  his  heart.  Then 
came  the  land  of  the  sage-brush,  the  desert,  a  spot 
forsaken  by  God  and  man  ;  a  gaunt,  scarred,  deso- 
late world,  arid  and  parched ;  a  dead  world,  with- 
out shadow,  or  voice,  or  breath.  In  these  brown, 
echoless  distances,  in  this  huge  desolation,  Dan 
felt  the  numbness  of  despair.  The  day  was  an 
eternity,  the  horizons  slipped  away  like  grains  of 
sand  in  an  hourglass,  and  nothing  mattered  much 
save  the  quantity  of  sage-brush.  The  thought  of 
their  millions  made  him  giddy ;  he  felt  there  could 
be  no  escape  from  them,  they  would  be  before  his 
eyes  long  after  the  sight  of  men's  faces  had  gone 
forever.  If  Winifred  were  here,  —  but  Winifred 
must  go  with  the  light.  The  voice  of  a  man  out- 
side his  door  complaining  of  hunger  brought  him 
to  the  realization  that  his  fancies  were  those  of  a 
diseased  brain.  As  no  dream  could  be  worse  than 
his  reality,  so  madness  might  be  a  relief ;  but  his 
soul  sent  up  a  passionate  prayer  that  he  might 
never  know  such  relief,  whatever  his  sufferings,  or 
however  many  his  years. 

The  next  morning  he  remembered  with  a  sense 
of  wonder  that  this  was  the  last  day  of  his  jour- 
ney, and  courage,  if  not  hope,  returned.  The 
desert  lay  behind ;  his  way  was  upwards  through 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  where  there  was  luxuriant 
68 


REALIZATION 

nature  and  dazzling  beauty.  There  were  shouting 
mountain  torrents,  regal  snow  -  burdened  ever- 
greens ;  over  all  was  a  cloudless  sky,  and  in  all, 
vigor  and  joy.  During  a  pause  in  the  ascent  he 
stood  alone  beside  his  car.  In  front  of  him  a  val- 
ley led  the  eye  away  to  a  distance  of  more  moun- 
tains, more  snow  and  pines.  It  seemed  eternal ;  a 
beautiful,  triumphant  world,  dazzling  and  virginal 
as  on  the  first  day  of  its  creation.  Then  Dan 
wondered  what  man  had  done  to  deserve  so  glori- 
ous a  heritage,  and  drew  in  breaths  that  were  deep 
and  strong  with  the  pride  of  being.  Surely  failure 
was  but  a  word,  and  darkness  a  dream.  Then  he 
swayed  suddenly,  caught  by  swift,  intolerable  pain, 
and  gray  fog  rolled  between  him  and  the  bright- 
ness. The  mountains  were  no  more,  and  the  car 
was  a  dark  indistinct  mass.  With  difficulty  he 
made  his  way  to  it,  and  by  a  fortunate  chance 
stumbled  into  his  own  compartment ;  his  face  was 
gray  with  dread,  and  his  hands  shook,  but  he  sat 
down  very  quietly  —  to  wait. 

"  When  is  this  fog  going  to  lift  ? "  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  it  won't  lift.  My  God  !  I  wish  Wally 
were  here." 

After  a  while  daylight  came  back  to  him,  and  a 
tolerable  clearness  of  vision ;  but  he  kept  the  cur- 
tain drawn,  and  looked  no  more  on  the  snow.  In 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

future  the  bright  worlds,  the  worlds  of  triumph 
and  freedom,  were  not  for  him. 

The  final  arrival  in  San  Francisco  was  not  till 
late  that  night,  and  the  next  morning  a  cab 
dropped  him  at  the  door  of  the  great  specialist, 
Dr.  Davage.  As  was  to  have  been  expected,  the 
servant  refused  him  admittance.  "  The  doctor 
never  receives  strangers,"  the  man  told  him,  and 
was  about  to  shut  the  door.  Dan  presented  his 
card  and  a  letter  of  introduction,  receiving  in 
return  an  assurance  that  they  would  be  delivered 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  but  that  at  present  the 
doctor  was  having  his  morning  smoke  on  the  back 
piazza,  where  disturbing  him  would  be  out  of  the 
question.  Dan  considered  a  moment  before  the 
closed  door. 

"  I  don't  see  very  well,  but  I  think  I  can  trust 
myself  to  find  the  back  piazza,"  he  told  himself. 

Dr.  Davage  sat  alone,  enjoying  a  pipe,  a  good 
digestion,  and  the  view.  His  eye  swept  beyond 
the  carefully  kept  garden,  over  the  housetops  to 
the  gleaming  waters  of  the  bay,  and  the  mountains 
beyond.  He  had  a  lazy  sense  of  vast  ownership, 
and  knew  a  distinct  satisfaction  that  no  one  was 
present  to  share  his  delights.  Suddenly  his  privacy 
was  broken  by  a  footfall  on  the  gravel,  and  a 
figure  came  between  himself  and  the  sun. 
70 


EEALIZATION 

"  What  the  devil "  —  he  began,  and  then  paused 
in  amazement,  as  a  man,  gaunt-featured  and  hag- 
gard-eyed, stumbled  up  the  steps. 

"You  are  Dr.  Davage?"  said  this  man  in  the 
voice  of  an  autocrat. 

"  The  same.  May  I  inquire  the  cause  of  this — 
er"  — 

"I  am  losing  my  eyesight;  I  am  half  blind 
already,  and  I  have  come  to  see  if  you  can  save 
me." 

"Ah.  I  shall  dismiss  my  servant  to-morrow. 
How  is  it  he  allowed  you  to  "  — 

"  He  did  not  allow  me ;  I  came.  When  can  you 
give  me  an  appointment  ?  " 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  friend.  I  see  that  you  are  a 
gentleman,  and  as  such  you  must  be  aware  of  hav- 
ing taken  an  unwarrantable  liberty." 

"Just  now  I  have  no  time  to  be  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  doctor  again.  "  Won't  you  sit 
down,  Mr."  — 

"Howard." 

"  The  name  is  familiar.    I  have  met  you  before." 

"  The  fact  is  immaterial.  Will  you  see  me  to- 
day?" 

The  doctor  knocked  the  ashes  from  his   pipe. 
"  I  practice  no  longer,"  he  said. 
71 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  ask  you  to  make  an  exception  in  my  favor. 
You  may  name  your  price." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  —  a  movement  of  the  hands  sug- 
gested superiority  to  dollars  and  cents,  —  "  pray 
spare  me  the  pain  of  repeated  denial.  I  remem- 
ber now  where  I  have  seen  you,  and  you  should 
have  good  reason  to  remember  my  face.  You  were 
the  opposing  counsel  in  the  case  of  Hoyt  versus 
Davage,  and  you  won  by  a  rather  clever  argu- 
ment, I  remember.  As  a  result  I  was  some  thou- 
sands out  of  pocket.  I  suppose  you  had  forgotten 
this  little  circumstance  when  you  came  to  me  to- 
day." 

"  I  had  forgotten,  but  recollection  would  not 
have  prevented  my  coming." 

"  Ah,  this  becomes  interesting.  I  wonder  what 
blindness  will  make  of  you." 

"  You  will  see  me,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not."  Simultaneously  the  men  rose 
and  faced  each  other.  The  doctor  was  quiet  and 
cool.  Dan  breathed  heavily.  He  realized  that 
in  this  man  of  whims  he  had  met  a  will  equal  to 
his  own. 

To  himself  the  doctor  said,  "  I  like  his  damned 
audacity."  Aloud  he  added,  "  Rest  is  a  question  of 
life  and  death  to  me." 

"  Sight  is  a  question  of  more  than  life  or  death 
72 


EEALIZATION 

to  me.  You  can't  condemn  a  man  to  blindness  for 
the  sake  of  a  whim." 

"  I  wish  you  a  very  good  morning,  Mr.  Howard." 

Then  Dan's  pride  gave  way. 

"  I  see  less  every  day,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  For 
God's  sake,  give  me  a  chance." 

Doctor  Davage  smiled,  and  Dan  turned  away 
heavily. 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  said  Davage.  "  When  a 
man  like  you  takes  to  begging,  he  must  be  listened 
to.  Come  into  the  house,  and  I  will  see  what  can 
be  done  for  you." 

Without  a  word,  Dan  turned  and  followed  him, 
wondering  if  awakening  pity  rather  than  use  of 
power  was  to  be  his  weapon  of  the  future,  as  it  had 
been  of  to-day. 

"  Sit  down  there  —  no,  with  your  back  to  the 
light ;  the  glare  annoys  you,  I  see.  You  will  have 
to  wait  while  I  prepare  my  apparatus,  which  is  not 
on  tap  for  every  one." 

There  was  only  kindness  in  the  doctor's  voice 
now.  He  talked  briskly  while  polishing  a  reflect- 
ing mirror. 

"  I  am  not  entirely  a  brute,"  he  continued,  "  but 

I  have  as  many   whims   as   a   schoolgirl,  and  it 

amuses  me  to  startle  people  by  showing  them  off ; 

when  a  man  forces  me  to  meet  him  under  the  crust 

73 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

as  you  have  done,  I  like  him.  I  like  you,  and  hope 
to  be  able  to  save  those  eyes.  Have  you  confidence 
in  me?" 

Dan  smiled  wearily.  "  I  have  no  especial  respect 
for  whims,"  he  said,  "  but  there  must  be  something 
big  about  you  or  you  could  not  have  stood  against 
my  will  as  you  did." 

"Ah!  "  The  doctor  looked  up  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes.  "  The  arrogance  of  expecting  me  to  do 
anything  for  you  after  you  had  made  me  pay  those 
thousands.  Oh,  I  owed  them  —  I  owed  them,  all 
right.  I  hope  you  realize  that  I  did  not  yield  un- 
der your  will  to-day." 

"  No ;  you  were  sorry  for  me." 

"  Well,  well  —  I  might  have  spared  your  pride 
that  admission ;  but  I  owed  it  to  my  vanity." 
Then  with  a  complete  change  of  countenance,  "  I 
am  ready  for  you  now,  Mr.  Howard ;  sit  here,  if 
you  please." 

The  little  man  suddenly  became  a  great  special- 
ist. He  surveyed  his  patient  with  a  settling  of 
brow  and  lip  that  changed  his  face  oddly. 

"  Now  then  —  what 's  your  trouble  ?  " 

Dan  told  him,  and  there  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"  That  is  bad,"  said  the  doctor  slowly.     "  The 
end  of  such  a  trouble  is  usually  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion.    We  shall  see.     Your  pulse  is  not  steady." 
74 


KEALIZATION 

"  I  should  like  to  have  the  examination  over  as 
soon  as  possible,  if  you  please." 

"  Move  forward  —  so." 

Under  the  rays  of  the  reflector,  Dan  was  dazzled 
and  tortured  almost  to  unconsciousness.  There 
was  a  pause,  and  then  — 

"  The  case  is  entirely  hopeless,"  said  the  doctor. 

Dan  sat  silent,  with  bowed  head.  He  did  not 
speak  at  once. 

"  There  are  certain  things  I  want  to  do,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  How  long  a  time  do  you  give  me  ?  " 

"  With  reasonable  precautions  you  are  safe  for 
several  months  yet." 

"  There  will  be  time  to  see  Win  again,"  he 
thought.  Aloud  he  continued,  "  I  see  badly  to-day 
after  a  strain  I  had  yesterday,  above  the  snow-line 
of  the  Sierra.  Can  you  tell  me  if  the  results  are 
likely  to  be  permanent?  Shall  I  be  better  be- 
fore "- 

"  Before  you  are  worse  ?  yes,  I  should  think  it 
probable." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  will  go  now.  You  have  been 
very  good.  For  how  much  am  I  in  your  debt  ?  " 

"  You  owe  me  a  few  thousands  or  so ;  but  not 
for  this  occasion.     I  no  longer  practice  profession- 
ally.    This  is  a  positive  rule.    You  must  submit  to 
taking  my  advice  as  a  gift,  Mr.  Howard." 
75 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

The  point  seemed  to  Dan  unworthy  of  consider- 
ation. He  rose  and  walked  unsteadily  toward  the 
door. 

The  doctor  was  quiet  and  grave.  "  I  should  be 
glad  to  have  you  stay  longer,"  he  said.  "  Do  you 
feel  equal  to  the  glare  yet  ?  " 

Dan  winced  at  the  sunlight.  "  I  think  it  will  be 
all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  must  go.  There  are  things 
to  do." 

Win  was  to  be  seen,  of  course,  and  there  were 
certain  business  matters  he  alone  could  wind  up. 
His  mind  was  painfully  clear.  For  a  moment  he 
paused  on  the  veranda  steps,  realizing  that  the 
world  was  good  to  look  upon. 

Dr.  Davage  saw  and  understood.  "You  care 
especially  for  this  sort  of  thing  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  One  might  give  it  up,  if  that  were  all." 

Davage  nodded.  "  I  know ;  it  is  the  putting 
out  of  hands  for  help  to  women  and  children." 

A  spasm  crossed  Dan's  lips. 

"Why  submit  to  it?"  asked  the  doctor. 
"  There  's  a  way  out." 

"  It 's  too  much  like  turning  a  back  to  the 
enemy." 

"  Nonsense  !  It  is  merely  a  question  of  choice. 
You  take  the  easy  road  instead  of  the  difficult. 
What  will  life  hold  for  you?  I  should  not  think 
76 


KEALIZATION 

you  were  the  man  to  submit  to  the  insolence  of  a 
fate  that  never  asks  permission." 

"  I  shall  put  it  through  somehow,"  answered 
Dan. 

Davage  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  like  you,  How- 
ard," he  said.  "  I  knew  your  father ;  he  was  a  good 
fighter  ;  but  you  are  a  bigger  man  than  he.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  say  so,  1  am  sorry  for  you.  I 
shall  hope  to  see  you  again." 

"  I  suppose  I  cannot  hope  for  the  same  pleasure," 
said  Dan  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  fear  not.  I  shall  hardly  go  east  before  a  year 
or  two,  and  by  that  time  you  can  scarcely  ex- 
pect "  — 

"  I  suppose  not.     Good-morning,  doctor." 

On  the  journey  home  there  were  no  more  weak- 
minded  fancies  about  dead  worlds  and  an  eternity 
of  sage-brush.  Behind  closely  drawn  curtains  Dan 
sat  weighing  the  future  with  a  pitilessly  clear  brain, 
that  spared  him  the  knowledge  of  no  single  bitter- 


77 


Chapter  YII 

ACCEPTANCE 

WALTER  sat  alone,  with  an  account  of  the 
stock  market  lying  untouched  on  his 
knees.  The  drop  in  sugar,  the  depression  in  rail- 
way bonds,  and  the  tightness  of  money  were  ephem- 
eral matters,  unworthy  of  consideration.  Dan 
might,  and  probably  would,  go  blind.  Beyond 
this  fact  Walter's  mind  refused  to  go.  Hour  by 
hour  the  realization  of  all  blindness  would  mean 
deepened  in  his  consciousness,  and  the  horror  and 
pity  of  it  grew  upon  him.  Suddenly  Dan  stood  in 
the  doorway. 

Neither  of  the  men  spoke.  Walter's  eyes 
questioned  hungrily,  and  Dan's  face  answered. 
On  the  table  lay  a  large  pile  of  unopened  letters, 
with  a  bulky  envelope  addressed  in  Winifred's 
handwriting  lying  conspicuously  near  the  top. 
He  put  this  in  his  pocket,  and  tossed  the  others 
aside. 

"I  can't  waste  my  eyes  on  those  things,"  he 
said,  and  flung  himself  wearily  into  a  chair. 
78 


ACCEPTANCE 

Walter  broke  the  silence.  "You  saw  the 
doctor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Dan  stared  into  gathering  shadows. 

"  There  's  no  hope,"  he  continued.  "  Life  is  a 
lost  game  for  me." 

"  How  soon  ?  "     Walter's  lips  were  dry. 

"  A  breathing  space." 

"A  year?" 

"  A  few  months.  Oblige  me  by  not  looking  at 
me  that  way  again  while  I  can  see  you." 

He  spoke  with  subdued  ferocity ;  for  in  Walter's 
eyes  he  could  take  the  measure  of  his  own  future. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Walter  rose  to 
shade  the  lamp  which  shone  in  Dan's  eyes.  The 
latter  looked  up. 

"Thank  you,  Wally,"  he  said. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do? "  asked  Walter. 

"  I  am  going  to  Europe,  and  then  I  am  going 
blind,  and  then  after  a  century  or  so,  I  am  going 
to  die." 

"  And  during  the  *  century  or  so '  ?  " 

"  I  shall  keep  up  my  profession.  I  suppose  that 
is  what  you  want  to  know." 

"It  can  be  done?" 

"  It  must  be  done.  I  shall  get  a  secretary,  pay 
him  extra  for  being  sworn  at,  and  work  him  like  a 
79 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

dog.     It 's  either  work  or  something  worse  than 
madness  or  death." 

"  You  say  you  are  going  to  Europe  ?" 

"There  's  a  famous  specialist  in  Paris,"  Dan 
said  briefly.  Then  he  rose  and  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  fire.  "  There  's  another  point,"  he  began. 
"  When  my  eyes  go,  you  must  move  out  —  find 
lodgings  for  yourself." 

"  Can  you  give  me  any  reason  why  I  should  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  don't  choose  to  have  you  bother- 
ing about  me  while  you  might  be  at  work,  or  with 
the  fellows." 

"  That 's  rot  —  I  am  not  going,"  said  Walter. 

"  If  you  don't,  I  shall,  and  I  would  rather  live 
on  here,  because  I  know  the  place  and  could  find 
things  in  the  dark." 

"  I  am  not  going,"  repeated  Walter  obstinately. 
"  Nor  are  you.  You  and  I  have  always  been  "  — 
He  paused. 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,  and  I  know  you,  and  so 
—  we  '11  part  company,  please.  My  darkness  is  my 
own.  I  don't  want  any  one  to  share  it." 

Walter  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  settled  himself 
more  deeply  in  the  armchair. 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  get  rid  of  me  ? "  he 
asked.     "  I  am  wondering  how  I  should  get  rid  of 
you  in  a  like  circumstance." 
80 


ACCEPTANCE 

"  I  would  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  world  to 
escape  from  a  man  who  could  n't  see  to  find  his 
collar  button.  However,  your  consent  doesn't 
matter.  If  you  can't  go  with  it,  you  must  go  with- 
out it." 

That  night  he  read  Winifred's  letter.  She  wrote 
jubilantly  of  her  final  engagement  to  sing  in  the 
Paris  Opera  House,  and  filled  pages  with  accounts 
of  her  hopes  and  fears.  Dan  read  with  pain  and 
some  difficulty.  He  must  tell  her  to  write  with 
darker  ink  and  on  less  transparent  paper,  and 
then  he  laid  his  head  down  on  the  letter  with  an 
inarticulate  moan.  It  was  doubtful  if  he  ever 
read  more  of  her  writing ;  doubtful  also  if  he  could 
see  her  face  by  the  time  he  arrived  in  Paris. 

During  the  next  few  days  a  secretary  was  chosen 
on  trial. 

"He  hasn't  the  eyes  and  lips  that  blab,  and 
he  's  clever,"  Dan  decided  after  a  few  days'  work 
with  a  slight,  pale  boy.  "  Poor  little  devil,  he  has 
a  threadbare  coat,  and  looks  hungry." 

Gazing  down  at  the  very  small  secretary,  he  felt 
a  strong  disinclination  to  confess  his  own  coming 
weakness. 

"  Stirling,  how  would  you  like  to  enter  my  office 
and  stay  there  subject  to  advancement  ?  "  he  asked 
one  evening,  suddenly. 

81 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Stirling  looked  up  at  the  prominent  lawyer. 

"  Your  office,  sir  ?  "  he  said,  a  hungry  eagerness 
in  his  usually  quiet  eyes. 

"  That 's  what  I  said." 

There  were  awe,  admiration,  and  reverence  in 
Stirling's  face.  Dan  saw  this,  and  swallowed 
hard. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  bracing  his  broad  shoul- 
ders, "  the  fact  is  I  'm  losing  my  eyesight.  I  don't 
expect  it  to  last  me  through  the  year.  I  should 
wish  you  to  be  eyes  for  me.  It  will  be  dog's  work, 
and  I  can't  afford  to  consider  your  strength.  If 
you  can't  do  the  work,  some  one  else  can.  I 
shall  require  something  else  besides  law  work. 
You  would  have  to  take  me  down  town  and  back 
every  day,  besides  being  constantly  with  me.  Do 
you  know  anything  about  blind  people  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  No  more  do  I,  but  we  can  both  learn.  How 
will  it  be  about  vacations  ?  Shall  you  be  wanting 
leave  every  few  months  ?  Because  I  can't  spare 
you." 

"  I  think  that  will  be  all  right." 

"  You  hesitate  —  what  is  it  ?  Family?  or  sweet- 
heart?" 

"  I  have  a  mother,"  answered  Stirling. 

"  Is  she  old,  or  ill?" 

82 


ACCEPTANCE 

"  She  is  both." 

"  Ah,  that  is  bad.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  New  York  State." 

"  I  see,  and  you  will  want  to  be  with  her  con- 
stantly. Then  I  am  afraid  we  can't  arrange  it." 

"  I  don't  think  she  or  I  will  be  unreasonable." 
Stirling  spoke  eagerly.  "  I  want  to  work  with 
you,"  he  added. 

Dan  considered.  "  You  can't  desert  a  mother," 
he  said.  "  I  never  had  one  myself,  but  I  always 
thought  they  must  be  more  or  less  desirable  arti- 
cles." 

Stirling  looked  up  quickly,  whereat  Dan  smiled. 
"  He  lacks  humor,"  he  thought,  "  and  is  shocked  at 
my  calling  a  mother  a  desirable  article ;  but  he  is 
not  afraid  to  show  it,  so  I  like  him." 

"  Could  n't  you  bring  your  mother  here,  or  near 
here  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"That  would  depend  on  my  salary,"  said  the 
boy  frankly. 

"  Of  course.  Considering  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances,—  I  mean  personal  attendance  and  the 
rest  of  it,  —  I  will  give  you  twenty-five  hundred  a 
year.  You  must  be  extravagant  if  you  can't  sup-- 
port  yourself,  and  bring  your  mother  wherever  you 
like,  on  that.  Are  you  an  only  son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  have  a  sister." 
83 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Then  you  don't  need  to  go  away  often.  Think 
it  over,  and  let  me  know." 

"I  don't  require  to  think  it  over,  sir.  I  can 
say  now  that  I  shall  be  glad,  I  shall  be  proud,  to 
take  the  situation." 

With  immense  pity  in  his  eyes  the  little  sec- 
retary looked  up  at  the  big  man.  Dan  winced, 
and  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  strangle  some  one. 

After  a  short  pause  he  spoke  again.  "All 
right,"  he  said.  "  Only  don't  expect  to  have  an 
easy  time,  for  I  shall  work  you  like  a  dog ;  nor  a 
good  time,  for  I  don't  expect  to  be  especially  cheer- 
ful at  first." 

"I  fear  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,"  said 
Stirling. 

"  That 's  right,  and  spoken  like  a  man.  I  think 
we  shall  rub  along  all  right.  I  am  not  often  wrong 
in  reading  faces.  Of  course  our  agreement  is  a 
secret  until  —  it  can't  be  a  secret  any  longer." 

"  What  an  ass  I  am  to  stick  at  the  word !  "  Dan 
added  to  himself. 

Stirling  hesitated,  with  his  hand  on  the  door 
knob. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  long  it  will  be  before  "  — 

"  Before  I  go  blind?"  finished  Dan,  swallowing 
hard.  "  It  will  be  some  time  within  the  year. 
What  is  that  to  you?" 

84 


ACCEPTANCE 

"  I  asked  because  I  had  better  go  to  my  mother 
and  make  arrangements  for  moving  her  before  you 
absolutely  need  me." 

"  I  foresee  the  mother  is  to  be  a  bone  of  conten- 
tion. You  can  go  next  week  while  I  am  in  Europe, 
and  stay  till  I  come  back.  If  I  get  into  trouble 
while  I  am  away,  I  shall  cable  you  to  meet  me  at 
the  steamer  on  her  arrival  in  Boston.  What  is 
it  now? "  For  Stirling  still  lingered. 

"  I  wish "  —  he  began  hesitatingly,  "  I  wish  I 
could  say  or  do  something  to  express  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  all  that,"  interrupted 
Dan  hastily.  "  Never  mind.  You  had  better  go 
now." 

After  the  door  had  closed,  Dan  remained  stand- 
ing. 

"The  boy  is  a  sensitive  little  animal,"  he  re- 
flected. "  It 's  a  pity  he  has  no  humor,  but  other- 
wise he  is  clever  enough,  and  I  only  want  his  eyes. 
He  is  the  kind  to  die  for  his  principles ;  people 
without  humor  usually  are,  and  his  heart  is  all 
right.  I  could  tell  that  by  the  way  he  looked  at 
me."  Dan  set  his  teeth.  "  Fancy  a  little  beggar 
like  that  looking  at  me  so." 

During  the  few  days  that  passed  before  the  sail- 
ing of  his  steamer,  Dan  marshaled  the  forces  of  his 
soul  and  fought  a  good  fight.  He  was  a  man  of 
85 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

arrogant  power,  who  faced  a  life  of  pitiable  depend- 
ence, and  would  not  run  away  ;  but  such  battles  are 
not  waged  for  nothing,  and  in  his  face  something 
of  the  barbaric  strength  and  savagery  of  elemental 
man  were  showing  through  the  veneer  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

On  the  day  of  his  final  conversation  with  Stir- 
ling he  walked  alone  on  one  of  the  great  bridges 
north  of  the  city.  He  walked  slowly,  with  massive 
brows  lowered  over  sombre,  brooding  eyes,  and 
suddenly  he  met  Kate  Randolph. 

She  was  holding  out  her  hand,  and  reluctantly 
he  brought  his  eyes  and  thoughts  down  to  her. 

Under  the  toque  of  gray  fur  and  violets,  Kate's 
upturned  face  looked  pale  and  tense. 

"  Dan,  what  did  the  doctor  in  San  Francisco 
say  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

He  bent  his  brows  angrily.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  Kate  ?  " 

"  I  know  all  about  it."  She  drew  in  her  breath 
quickly.  "  Don't  look  at  me  so,  Dan.  Papa  did  n't 
tell  —  but"  — 

"Goon!" 

"  It  was  n't  papa's  fault "  —  she  spoke  in  a  hard 

voice.     "  I  saw  you  come  out  of  his  office  —  you 

did  n't  notice  me  —  and  your  face  made  me  afraid, 

so   I   asked  papa    if    anything  was   wrong;    he 

86 


ACCEPTANCE 

would  n't  tell  me.  The  next  day  you  came  again, 
and  I  crept  downstairs  and  listened,  Dan.  I  knelt 
by  the  keyhole  for  half  an  hour  —  and  I  heard 
every  word." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence,  and  she  saw  that  his 
contempt  was  greater  than  his  anger. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,  Dan,"  she  said.  "  I  had  to  do 
it.  What  did  the  San  Francisco  doctor  say  ?  " 

He  turned  on  his  heel  with  a  short  laugh.  He 
had  wished  to  meet  the  world  of  men  on  equal 
terms  as  long  as  he  could,  and  now  his  last  foothold 
was  gone.  As  for  this  girl,  she  was  only  one  of 
the  insects  who  carry  poison. 

"  Dan."  The  little  face  looked  old.  "  Dan,  do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  tell  ?  " 

"  Is  n't  that  what  you  listened  for  ?  " 

The  intense  light  in  her  eyes  wavered  like  a 
flame  in  the  wind.  "  How  can  I  make  you  believe 
me?  "  she  cried  breathlessly. 

"  I  would  n't  waste  time  trying,  if  I  were  you," 
he  answered. 

"  How  can  I  make  you  believe  me  ? "  she  re- 
peated. 

"  It  is  no  great  matter ; "  he  spoke  more  to  him- 
self than  to  her.  "  A  few  months  sooner  or  later, 
that  is  all." 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope  !  "  With  a  pitiful,  un- 
87 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

controllable  gesture  her  hands  moved  towards  him, 
and  then  she  caught  them  in  each  other  as  if  she 
would  have  wrung  them  off.  She  faced  him  in 
silence  a  moment  longer ;  then,  "  I  have  n't  said  I 
was  sorry  for  you,  Dan,  and  you  ought  to  be  grate- 
ful to  me  for  that,"  she  said,  and  the  bitter,  de> 
spairing  misery  in  her  eyes  was  one  of  the  memo- 
ries that  haunted  Dan  through  the  first  months  of 
his  darkness.  Kate  turned  and  left  him.  Her 
face  was  that  of  a  woman  who  has  stood  before  the 
scorn  of  the  man  she  loves. 

Walter  saw  Dan  off  at  the  steamer. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Dan,  with  a  rare  acquisition  of 
wistf ulness,  "  I  wonder,  Wally,  if  I  shall  be  able  to 
see  you  when  I  get  back." 

Walter  wrung  his  hand.  "  It  is  breaking  my 
heart,  old  boy." 

Dan  smiled.     "  I  would  n't  let  it  do  that." 

"  Perhaps  the  Paris  doctor  can  do  something." 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  Dan  without  conviction. 

"  I  had  rather  take  it  myself." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Wally.  Can  I  give  any  mes- 
sages for  you  in  Paris  ?  " 

Then  Walter  knew  the  real  reason  for  the  jour- 
ney.    He  went  home  cursing  the  wanton  cruelty 
and  huge  stupidity  of  fate. 
88 


ACCEPTANCE 

In  Paris,  Dan  hunted  up  the  office  of  a  world- 
famed  oculist. 

"  Have  you  come  with  hope  ?  "  the  Frenchman 
asked  him,  after  completing  an  examination. 

"  No,"  said  Dan. 

"  That  is  well,  since  I  can  give  you  none."  He 
paused,  looking  at  the  tall,  powerfully  built  Ameri- 
can. 

"  C'est  dur,"  he  said  reflectively.  "  You  are  a 
comparatively  young  man  yet." 

"  Thirty-two,"  Dan  told  him. 

"  Tiens.  I  had  thought  you  older.  Oui,  c'est 
dur.  Mais  que  voulez-vous  f  C'estlavie.  There 
are  many  others.  Most  of  them  get  used  to  it, 
sooner  or  later  —  sooner  or  later.  You  don't  look 
as  if  you  would  get  used  to  it  easily." 

"  I  don't  expect  to,"  answered  Dan  dryly,  as  he 
rose.  "  Can  you  tell  me  how  much  longer  my  eyes 
are  likely  to  last  ?  " 

The  little  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Im- 
possible to  say.  It  may  be  months,  it  may  be 
weeks.  Avoid  late  hours  and  many  lights.  I 
regret  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  My  fee  is  peu 
de  chose,  thirty  francs." 

Dan  paid  him  the  money,  and  went  on  his  way 
wondering  of  what  use  was  the  man  of  science, 
since  knowledge  of  worlds  could  not  cure  a  diseased 
89 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

nerve,  and  of  what  use  the  so-called  man  of  God, 
since  he  could  only  tell  one  stumbling  in  utter 
darkness  to  hope  for  possible  light  beyond,  and  to 
trust  what  no  one  has  ever  seen. 

He  wandered  aimlessly  down  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens,  his  broad  shoulders  and  gaunt  featured 
face  towering  above  the  small,  nimble  Frenchmen. 
On  passing  the  Opera  House  he  read  the  announce- 
ment that  Mademoiselle  Winifred  Meredith  would 
make  her  debut  there  that  night,  in  Verdi's  Otello. 
90 


Chapter  VIII 

AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

TELE  gorgeous  Paris  Opera  House,  a  fit  expres- 
sion of  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  frivolous, 
the  cleverest,  and  the  wickedest  people  in  the  world, 
was  rapidly  filling. 

Slowly  Daniel  Howard  moved  down  the  centre 
aisle.  Silent  and  sombre  and  massive  in  the  midst 
of  much  laughter  and  dazzling  scintillations  from 
lights  and  jewels,  he  took  his  seat  and  stared  at  the 
great  green  curtain.  His  lips  were  dry,  and  his 
heart  pounded  like  the  screw  of  a  steamer  when  the 
seas  run  high. 

He  had  forgotten  himself,  for  the  woman  he  loved 
was  going  to  stand  before  this  great  audience,  a 
candidate  for  their  admiration  or  contempt. 

The  overture  began,  and  during  the  excited,  por- 
tentous music  of  the  first  act  he  waited,  tense  and 
maddened,  for  the  face  he  had  last  seen  under  the 
stars  —  the  face  that  had  been  tremulous,  and  pas- 
sionately questioning  the  power  of  love.  At  last 
there  was  a  stir  among  the  audience,  a  universal 
91 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

adjustment  of  opera  glasses,  and  amid  an  expectant 
silence  Winifred  came  on  the  great  stage. 

She  moved  gracefully,  quietly,  with  a  delicate 
queenly  poise,  before  hundreds  of  critical  eyes. 
The  next  moment  she  was  singing  —  singing  easily, 
joyously  —  somewhat  as  he  had  heard  her  years 
ago  in  the  poppy  garden. 

And  this  was  the  same  Winifred,  his  Winifred, 
the  love  of  his  youth,  the  deep  need  of  his  soul. 
Her  singing,  fresh  and  spontaneous,  rang  through 
his  consciousness  till  its  sweetness  became  a  pain, 
the  pain  a  passion,  and  the  whole  a  love  wilder  and 
deeper  than  he  had  yet  known. 

The  man  next  to  him  tapped  his  arm,  offering  an 
opera  glass.  " Elle  riest  pas  mal"  he  said  criti- 
cally. Dan  adjusted  the  glass  to  his  eyes,  wondering 
dully  why  he  did  not  strangle  the  man  where  he  sat. 
Through  the  powerful  lens  he  saw  her  distinctly, 
and  with  an  odd  sense  of  familiarity  and  strange- 
ness traced  the  dearly  loved  features.  "  Elle  a  une 
belle  voix,"  said  his  neighbor,  addressing  him  again ; 
and  a  little  later  he  added  that  she  was  a  good 
actress.  To  these  remarks  Dan  made  no  reply. 
They  caused  him  unreasoning  rage;  but  his  head 
was  clearing.  He  could  look  and  listen  with  com- 
parative calm,  for  above  and  beyond  his  own  pain 
grew  the  thought,  "What  matters  it  how  I  suffer, 
92 


AT  THE  CKOSSWAYS 

if  she  is  happy  ?  "  In  her  singing  and  acting  he 
saw  qualities  of  unrealized  greatness;  but  to-day  she 
was  a  good  artist,  and  nothing  more.  Her  voice 
was  pure  and  strong,  her  acting  intelligent,  but  her 
audience  were  unmoved  save  by  respect  and  criti- 
cal admiration.  There  was  no  definite  fault  to 
find,  and  much  to  praise ;  but  certainly  it  was 
not  for  such  success  as  this  that  Winifred  had 
worked. 

During  the  entr'acte  he  scribbled  a  few  words  to 
her  on  his  card. 

"  What  time  can  I  see  you  to-morrow  ? "  he 
wrote  briefly,  and  procured  an  usher  who  promised 
to  deliver  it  into  her  own  hands.  The  reply  came 
before  the  third  act :  "  To-morrow  after  four,"  she 
had  written. 

As  the  great  tragedy  gathered  force  for  its  close, 
Dan  realized  that  Winifred  was  carrying  her  audi- 
ence as  much  by  the  invincible  assurance  of  her  per- 
sonality as  by  the  excellence  of  her  art.  She  failed 
to  profit  by  the  chance  for  pathos  in  the  exquisite 
prayer  of  the  last  act ;  but  in  Desdemona's  sudden 
cry  there  was  a  passion  and  terror  that  startled,  and 
proved  her  capable  of  stirring  where  she  could  not 
touch. 

When  the  curtain  dropped  Winifred  received 
several  recalls  from  an  appreciative  but  unenthusi- 
93 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  EOAD 

astic  audience,  and  bowed  her  acknowledgment  with 
a  confident  grace  and  reserve  that  gave  no  hint  of 
disappointment. 

Dan  smiled.  "  It  is  so  like  the  child  to  treat 
her  audience  as  a  queen  treats  her  subjects,"  he 
thought.  "  After  all,  it  is  doubtless  the  best  way. 
Audiences,  like  individuals,  take  you  largely  on  your 
own  estimation."  But  he  knew  that  Winifred  could 
not  be  content ;  he  knew  that  years  of  disappoint- 
ment and  bitterness  must  be  hers  before  the  goal 
of  success  was  reached,  and  he  knew  that  she  would 
struggle  without  faltering  to  the  end. 

On  his  way  out  some  one  tapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  he  turned  to  face  the  doctor  who  had  pro- 
nounced his  final  doom  that  morning. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  little  man,  "  this  will 
not  do.  If  you  continue  to  put  strains  of  this 
kind  on  your  eyes,  they  will  fail  you  —  piff  —  sud- 
denly as  one  blows  out  a  candle." 

Dan  thanked  him  indifferently  and  would  have 
passed  on,  but  the  Frenchman  faced  him  with  ear- 
nest professional  scrutiny.  "  Have  you  any  friends 
in  Paris  ?  "  he  asked. 

Dan  told  him  no. 

"  Then  go  home  at  once.  It  would  not  be  agree- 
able to  go  blind  in  a  strange  city.  Perhaps  you  are 
with  your  wife." 

94 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

Dan  looked  at  him  as  one  might  look  at  an  ob- 
jectionable insect. 

"  I  have  not  asked  your  advice,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly. 

"  Mon  cher  monsieur,  I  am  sorry  I  offended,"  he 
protested.  There  was  a  certain  compassion  in  his 
eyes  which  Dan  took  to  mean  that  it  was  not  worth 
while  resenting  the  words  of  a  man  who  would  soon 
be  blind.  He  went  out  into  the  streets  with  his  hat 
pulled  over  his  eyes.  He  thought  of  Winifred  bow- 
ing before  the  footlights  in  the  days  of  triumph 
that  would  surely  be  hers :  he  thought  of  himself 
an  object  of  pity  through  black  years  to  come  ;  and 
then  he  thought  of  the  dark  river,  slipping  silently 
under  granite  bridges. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  of  intense  pain  in  his 
eyes,  and  remembered  the  doctor's  words :  "  Your 
eyes  will  fail  suddenly  as  one  blows  out  a  candle." 
Dan  wanted  one  more  day  of  sight  as  he  never  could 
want  anything  again ;  to  stand  before  Winifred 
and  see  her  face  was  the  last  and  supreme  wish  of 
his  life.  But  he  made  no  appeal  to  infinite  mercy. 
In  these  days  of  suffering  he  had  never  wavered  in 
his  belief  that  what  God  there  was  knew  best ;  he 
had  never  been  weak  enough  to  beg  that  eternal 
laws  might  be  put  aside  for  him,  and  now  he  did 
not  pray,  as  men  name  prayer,  but  fought  through 
95 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

the  night  with  no  help  beyond  the  forces  of  his 
own  soul  and  a  belief  in  eternal  wisdom. 

The  dawn  was  so  long  in  coming  that  he  feared 
never  to  see  another  day,  and  with  thanksgiving 
unspeakable  saw  at  last  the  light  filter  through  the 
folds  of  his  window  curtain,  and  familiar  objects 
detach  themselves  from  surrounding  darkness. 

There  were  many  hours  still  to  be  lived  through 
before  he  could  see  Winifred,  and  he  partially  em- 
ployed them  by  engaging  a  passage  on  the  next 
steamer,  and  cabling  to  Walter. 

At  four  o'clock  he  climbed  the  narrow  stairway 
to  her  rooms.  A  maid  opened  the  door  and  ushered 
him  into  a  small  antechamber  where  he  heard 
laughter  and  excited  voices  from  the  room  beyond. 
Dan  had  not  expected  this. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  occupied  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
must  see  her  alone." 

"  Oui,  Monsieur.  I  will  present  Monsieur's  card 
to  Mademoiselle."  The  little  maid  disappeared 
hastily.  She  was  frightened  by  the  gaunt  sombre- 
ness  of  Dan's  face. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  quel  homme  !  I  believe  he  is  dan- 
gerous, and  these  foreigners  are  so  big,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

There  was  another  man  in  the  anteroom.     He 
addressed  Dan  in  bad  French. 
96 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

"  Monsieur  does  not  remember  me  ?  " 

Dan  looked  him  over  carelessly. 

"I  do  not,"  he  answered  briefly,  being  in  no 
humor  for  the  elaborate  veneer  of  French  cour- 
tesy. 

"  Permit  me  to  recall  myself.  My  name  is  von 
Reidnitz.  Monsieur  insulted  me  once,  and  since 
then  I  have  not  ceased  to  cherish  the  hope  of  re- 
venge. For  the  present  the  world  is  large  enough 
for  us  both." 

"  Doubtless,  but  the  room  is  not."  Dan  stood 
carelessly  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets ;  the  in- 
difference of  his  attitude  and  the  easy  insolence  of 
his  words  enraged  the  Austrian.  He  drew  a  fierce 
breath. 

"  It  happens  that  I  was  just  going,  otherwise  — 
Monsieur  has  insulted  me  a  second  time.  I  offer 
Monsieur  my  card,  and  to-morrow  my  friends  will 
call  upon  him." 

Dan  laughed  shortly,  and  tearing  the  card  in 
two  he  tossed  it  into  the  grate. 

"  Monsieur  refuses  my  challenge  !  " 

"  You  imagine  yourself  to  be  acting  melodrama," 
said  Dan  in  a  casual  tone. 

And  then  Winifred  parted  the  curtains  and 
stood  before  him,  not  an  operatic  prima  donna, 
but  the  Win  of  old,  fresh  and  true  and  wholesome. 
97 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

In  the  joy  of  seeing  her  a  world  of  pain  and  long- 
ing slipped  from  his  consciousness. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Dan,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing out  both  hands  with  frank  pleasure.  "It  is 
too  bad  all  these  people  are  here."  She  indicated 
her  visitors  with  a  girlish,  backward  nod.  "  But 
I  felt  I  ought  to  see  them  ;  they  will  go  soon,  and 
you  can  wait,  can't  you  ?  I  am  longing  to  know 
all  you  thought  about  last  night." 

Dan  said  he  could  wait,  and,  with  an  indifferent 
acknowledgment  to  introductions,  seated  himself 
in  a  shadow  and  watched  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
some  white  stuff  that  floated  when  she  moved,  and 
there  were  crimson  roses  near  her  throat.  The 
effect  was  French,  and  he  did  not  like  it,  though 
it  gave  her  a  subtle  womanly  charm  that  had  not 
been  hers  in  the  days  gone  by.  His  eyes  rested 
with  relief  on  her  smooth  dark  hair,  which  she 
wore  in  the  old,  simple,  girlish  fashion,  brushed 
back  loosely,  and  twisted  in  a  heavy  knot  behind. 

Quite  a  circle  of  people  were  about  her,  and  she 
talked  to  them  with  light-hearted  gayety.  Yet  in 
some  way  she  had  changed.  Public  life  had  al- 
ready set  its  stamp  on  her.  She  had  lost  girlish 
gestures,  exaggerated  enthusiasms,  and  gained  dig- 
nity and  grace.  There  was  a  delicate  poise  to  her 
head,  which  differed  from  the  aggressive  confidence 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

of  her  girlhood.  The  somewhat  abrupt  lines  of 
her  personality  had  become  rounded,  and  softened, 
and  polished.  The  brown  eyes  were  as  direct  and 
true  as  ever :  fearless  eyes,  though  one  saw  in  their 
depths  that  they  had  looked  on  much ;  innocent 
eyes  that  were  no  longer  ignorant. 

The  people  round  her,  men  particularly,  were 
loud  in  praise  of  her  last  night's  appearance.  She 
took  their  compliments  easily,  with  a  certain 
charming  insolence  that  was  too  delicate  to  offend, 
and  conveyed  a  piquant  sense  of  aloofness  and  in- 
difference. 

Mrs.  Smith,  the  chaperon,  dispensed  tea  and 
propriety  from  a  small  table.  She  seemed  used 
to  being  ignored.  Minutes  wore  on,  and  Dan 
watched  and  waited.  The  air  of  the  room  was 
close  and  sweet  with  the  perfume  of  flowers.  The 
doorbell  rang  constantly  to  admit  new  visitors, 
and  there  was  continual  passing  to  and  fro.  Was 
this  what  he  had  come  for  ?  A  passion  of  pain 
and  jealousy  tore  him. 

Still  he  waited,  and  watched  Winifred  in  the 
flush  of  her  young  triumph,  receiving  adulation, 
surrounded  by  flowers.  What  would  she  think  of 
him,  halting  and  groping  —  she  who  worshiped 
success  and  strength  ? 

"  My  God !  "  he  cried  under  his  breath.  It  was 
99 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

for  this  that  he  had  waited  all  these  years;  for 
this  —  to  sit  down  in  the  dark  and  hear  her  go  by 
in  the  distance.  It  was  chiefly  to  lay  them  at  her 
feet  that  he  had  worked  to  conquer  wealth  and 
fame,  and  now  it  was  all  over;  the  work  of  his 
life  had  gone  for  nothing ;  he  was  to  be  turned  to 
the  wall  like  a  worthless  picture. 

Gradually  the  guests  were  leaving,  and  before 
he  knew  what  was  coming  he  was  alone  with  her. 
She  put  her  hands  to  her  head  with  a  weary  little 
gesture. 

"  I  am  so  glad  they  have  gone,  and  I  am  so  glad 
you  are  here,"  she  told  him. 

He  sat  down  by  her  in  the  dusk  and  firelight, 
and  keeping  well  in  the  shadow  himself,  fed  his 
eyes  hungrily  and  despairingly  on  every  line  of  her 
face. 

She  leaned  back  in  an  attitude  of  physical  list- 
lessness,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  I 
think  I  am  tired,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  so  nice  and  restful  to  have  you  here, 
Dan ;  but  how  do  you  happen  to  be  in  Paris  at 
this  season  ?  " 

He  was  noting  that  her  hair  had  become  loos- 
ened on  one  side,  and  thinking  how  lovely  her  eyes 
were  with  their  shade  of  weariness.     She  had  to 
repeat  her  words  before  he  thought  to  answer. 
100 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?     I  suppose  it  is  business." 

"  Yes,  business." 

"  It  is  the  most  fortunate  business  I  ever  knew. 
Now  tell  me  exactly  what  you  thought  of  last 
night." 

He  was  striving  to  see  her  more  distinctly,  and 
realizing  how  nearly  the  darkness  was  upon  him ; 
but  aloud  he  said,  "  I  think  you  will  be  a  great 
artist  some  day." 

She  sat  up  with  an  increase  of  animation.  "  You 
were  disappointed  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  was.  I  am  not  satisfied ;  I  am  not  satisfied 
at  all.  Now  I  don't  want  you  to  try  to  comfort 
me.  I  want  the  truth." 

"  Would  you  take  my  version  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  it  agreed  with  my  own."  She 
laughed  a  little.  "Speaking  seriously,"  she  con- 
tinued,— "speaking  seriously,  I  should;  for  I  can't 
see  myself  or  hear  myself  as  you  see  and  hear 
me." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  grown  thinner, 
and  he  liked  her  better  so ;  but  he  was  never  to 
see  her  again. 

"One  person  says  one  thing,  another  says  an- 
other," Winifred  went  on  with  troubled  eyes.  Ma- 
dame Alberto  says  I  have  not  been  touched  by  the 
101 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

'feu  sacre.'  Edith  says  the  difficulty  lies  in  the 
reserve  and  indifference  of  my  nature.  The  news- 
papers say  I  am  to  be  admired  with  tranquil  pulses. 
But  what  is  the  remedy  to  all  this  ?  I  —  Dan, 
you  are  not  listening  to  me !  " 

«  Forgive  me,  Winifred."  He  passed  his  hand 
across  his  forehead ;  she  was  puzzled  by  the  ges- 
ture, which  was  new  to  him. 

"  I  believe  you  are  tired,"  she  spoke  kindly. 

"  No.  I  am  all  right."  Dan's  lips  were  dry. 
He  was  saying  good-by  to  her  eyes,  to  her  lips,  to 
every  line,  and  curve,  and  gesture.  After  this 
nothing  could  matter  much. 

"  It  is  growing  dark.  Could  n't  we  have  a  light  ? ' ' 
he  asked. 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  Of  course ;  but  I  thought  you  liked  to  sit  in 
the  dark." 

"  I  believe  I  did  once." 

She  rose  to  light  a  lamp.  "I  always  do  this 
myself,"  she  explained ;  "  Marie  makes  it  smoke 
so." 

He  watched  with  wistful  eagerness  as  the  light 
grew  on  her  face.  Unconsciously  he  spoke  her 
name. 

"  Winifred." 

She  turned  to  him  with  gravely  wondering  eyes. 
102 


AT  THE  CEOSSWAYS 

"I  have  always  been  Win  to  you  as  to  every 
one.  Only  papa  called  me  Winifred  the  day  he 
died.  Why  have  you  called  me  Winifred  twice 
to-night,  Dan  ?  " 

Without  answering  he  rose  and  came  to  where 
she  stood  with  the  light  streaming  full  upon  her. 
Her  face  was  touched  by  the  shadow  of  grave 
thoughts,  and  her  eyes,  dark,  shining,  and  some- 
what questioning,  were  raised  to  his.  Through  the 
years  to  come  he  would  remember  her  oftenest  so. 

"  You  are  not  like  yourself,"  she  said.  "  I  do 
not  believe  you  are  well.  You  ought  not  to  work 
so  hard." 

He  was  thinking  how  easy  it  would  be  to  take 
her  in  his  strong  arms.  Her  voice  came  to  him 
from  a  distance. 

"  Last  week  Jack  Allison  passed  through  Paris," 
she  was  saying.  "  He  told  me  you  were  looking  ill 
and  seemed  irritable.  This  should  not  be,  Dan. 
I  can  imagine  you  angry  to  the  killing  point ;  but 
you  are  too  large  for  irritability." 

It  was  necessary  for  him  to  pause  before  speak- 
ing. "  I  will  do  better  in  the  future,"  he  said. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  "Letters  for 
Mademoiselle,  and  a  box  of  flowers." 

Unreasoning  rage  seized  upon  Dan.  "  Who 
sends  you  flowers?  " 

103 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  EOAD 

"  A  great  many  people ;  there  is  safety  in  their 
numbers." 

As  Winifred  opened  the  box,  the  heavy  odor  of 
tuberoses  filled  the  room.  A  card  lay  on  the  waxen 
mass,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  her  lips  tightened. 
She  replaced  the  cover  on  the  box  and  handed 
it  to  Marie.  "  A  man  waits  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Mademoiselle." 

"  I  supposed  so.  Tell  him  there  has  been  a  mis- 
take. I  do  not  receive  flowers  from  Count  C ." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Dan  when  they  were  left 
alone. 

"  A  horrid  little  roue  who  has  been  rather  per- 
sistent." 

"  And  you  subject  yourself  to  these  things." 
Dan  drew  in  a  deep,  fierce  breath.  "  There  are 
other  flowers  here  that  you  do  receive."  His  voice 
was  harsh. 

"  Of  course.  It  is  part  of  my  life.  Don't  be 
foolish,  Dan !  " 

She  motioned  him  to  a  seat ;  but  he  remained 
standing  before  her,  and  she  sighed  somewhat  im- 
patiently. It  was  certainly  selfish  of  Dan  to  spoil 
her  little  triumphs  by  his  personal  feeling.  She 
did  not  know  that  he  had  come  three  thousand 
miles  to  see  her  face  for  the  last  time. 

"  And  the  life  satisfies  you?  "  he  asked. 
104 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

"  Yes."     She  spoke  a  little  defiantly. 

"  It  is  not  the  life  for  a  high-bred  woman." 

"A  lady  can  be  a  lady  always,  everywhere." 
She  met  his  eyes  steadily.  "  Don't  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Utterly  and  for  always." 

«*  Well,  then  ?  "  —     She  spoke  lightly. 

"You  court  admiration,  when  you  might  have 
love ;  you  cultivate  brilliancy  instead  of  tenderness. 
It  is  the  century's  lesson  ;  you  are  learning  it  too 
well."  He  was  speaking  with  his  lips  to  silence 
the  words  in  his  heart. 

"  My  dear  Dan,  have  you  come  here  to  lecture 
me  on  woman's  rights  ?  "  she  asked  wearily. 

"  No,  I  did  not  come  here  for  that.  Good-by, 
Winifred." 

"  Good-by  ?  Why,  you  have  only  just  come  — 
you  can't  go.  I  want  to  know  all  you  think  of  my 
singing." 

"  I  think  you  have  a  great  talent  which  you  will 
use  greatly  when  you  have  learned  the  lesson  of 
love  or  pain." 

She  smiled  faintly.  It  was  easier  not  to  meet 
Dan's  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  have  said  something  of  this  sort 
before,"  she  remarked,  putting  up  her  hands  to 
unpin  the  roses  from  her  throat.  Their  perfume 
made  her  faint. 

105 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  fiercely. 

"  What  right  have  you  "  —  But  he  crushed  her 
hands,  roses  and  all,  in  his.  His  face,  hungry  and 
savage,  bent  close  to  hers,  and  a  great  oath  crashed 
through  his  set  teeth. 

"  Dan !  "  she  whispered,  "  Dan !  "  And  her  ter- 
rified eyes  appealed  to  him  as  they  had  done  once 
before,  when  they  had  been  boy  and  girl  together, 
and  she  had  fallen  into  deep  water.  The  shock  of 
the  memory  made  him  reel. 

"My  God,  my  God!  what  have  I  done?"  he 
cried,  releasing  her.  "  Winifred  —  forgive  me ;  " 
with  infinite  tenderness  he  took  her  hands  into 
both  of  his  big  trembling  ones.  "  Winifred,  for- 
give me.  I  am  going  now  "  —  His  deep  voice 
broke. 

"  Winifred  "  —  he  looked  at  her  with  dumb,  im- 
ploring eyes  —  "  Winifred,  little  Win,  I  'm  going. 
Tell  me  first  that  up  to  this  moment  I  never  hurt 
you  —  that  I  have  not  brought  shadows  across  your 
life." 

"  You  have  always  brought  what  was  good  and 
happy,"  she  spoke  tremulously,  forgiving  him  since 
his  face  showed  so  great  a  pain. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  said,  and  bending  he  kissed 
her  hand  as  one  going  into  the  valley  of  shadows 
kisses  the  holiest  and  loveliest  thing  he  leaves  be- 
106 


AT  THE  CROSSWAYS 

hind.     For  a  moment  longer  his  eyes  lingered  on 
her,  and  then  he  was  gone. 

A  little  later  Edith  came  in  quickly. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  Dan  Howard  ?  " 
she  asked  excitedly  of  Winifred,  who  stood  with  a 
pale  face  where  he  had  left  her. 

"  I  have  done  nothing,"  she  answered. 

"  I  met  him  just  now  on  the  stairs.  He  did  not 
know  me  till  I  got  quite  close,  and  then  his  face 
frightened  me." 

"  I  have  done  nothing,"  she  repeated. 

"Nothing!  Nothing!  All  these  years  you 
have  taken  the  best  of  him,  to  send  him  away  with 
empty  hands  at  last  —  and  it  is  nothing." 

Winifred  disregarded  the  reproaches.  "  Dan 
must  be  in  some  great  trouble,"  she  said,  and  drew 
in  her  breath  quickly.  "  How  could  I  let  him  go  ?  " 
Her  own  partial  success  looked  pale  and  worthless 
beside  the  memory  of  Dan's  face,  and  the  broken, 
despairing  tenderness  of  his  last  words. 

"  I  must  write  to  him,"  she  moved  to  her  desk. 
Then  her  hands  dropped  helplessly.  "  I  don't  know 
his  address!  "  she  exclaimed.  "He  did  not  tell  me 
where  he  was  staying." 

The  girls  stared  at  each  other  speechless,  with 
a  sense  of  disaster  unjustified  by  circumstances. 
Then  Edith  flung  out  her  hands. 
107 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"You  put  aside  his  love  for  the  sake  of  what 
you  called  success,"  she  cried,  "  and  now  you  have 
let  him  go,  and  nothing  so  much  worth  while  will 
ever  come  into  your  life  again !  Oh,  Winifred, 
you  have  been  a  fool !  a  fool !  a  fool !  " 
108 


Chapter  IX 

SHADOWS 

THAT  night,  as  Dan  passed  through  the  court- 
yard of  his  hotel,  he  again  came  face  to  face 
with  the  little  French  specialist. 

"  I  followed  you  in  here,"  said  the  latter.  "  I 
have  been  thinking  over  your  case.  Would  you 
be  willing  to  take  a  risk  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  Dan,  stand- 
ing above  him. 

"  Small  chance  and  much  danger,"  continued  the 
doctor.  "  Do  you  care  to  try  ?  " 

"  You  speak  of  an  operation  ?  " 

"  Precisely.     Whom  did  you  see  last  ?  " 

"Dr.  Davage." 

"  And  he  advised  nothing  of  the  sort  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Hum  —  il  s'y  connait.  Pourtant  —  one  might 
try,  one  might  also  hesitate." 

"  How  great  is  the  chance  ?  " 

"  Very  small,  my  friend,  almost  invisible." 

"What  is  the  danger?" 
109 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Greatly  increased  loss  of  sight." 

"Can  the  operation  be  performed  to-morrow?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  But  you  should  con- 
sider it  well." 

"  It  does  not  need  consideration.  Be  so  good  as 
to  fix  the  hour  and  place." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  and  they  say  we  French  move 
quickly !  If  you  come  to  my  office  to-morrow  at 
nine  o'clock  we  can  arrange  details.  But  first  —  I 
beg  of  Monsieur  not  to  take  offense  —  but  first  it 
would  be  well  to  notify  some  friend,  some  acquaint- 
ance even.  If  the  worst  should  come  —  Monsieur 
speaks  French  well,  but  without  the  eyes  —  and 
alone  in  a  strange  city." 

"At  nine  to-morrow,  you  say?"  Dan  spoke 
quietly. 

"  At  nine  to-morrow ;  and  remember  I  promise 
little,  and  fear  much.  Think  well  before  you  come. 
Au  revoir,  Monsieur.  Think  well." 

One  day  early  in  March,  Walter  received  a  ca- 
blegram from  Dan.  "  Sailing  in  the  C ,  March 

3d.  Meet  me  or  send  Stirling,"  the  message  ran. 
A  week  later  he  was  waiting  on  the  wharf  for  the 
great  ocean  liner. 

He  was  impatient  and  anxious,  and  spoke  ab- 
sent-mindedly to  the  few  acquaintances  he  met. 
110 


SHADOWS 

Over  and  over  he  asked  himself  the  meaning  of  the 
cable.  Dan's  doom  must  be  already  upon  him,  that 
he  had  asked  to  be  met.  The  March  wind  was 
cold ;  low-flying  hurrying  clouds  looked  eager  and 
angry.  The  harbor  waters  were  dark  and  troubled 
by  ungainly  ferryboats  and  aggressive  tugs,  which 
plied  their  way  here  and  there  with  much  noise  and 
disturbance.  Everywhere  was  gloom  and  apparent 
chaos,  which  seemed  natural  enough  since  Dan  was 
going  blind.  Stirling  appeared  suddenly  from  an 
inconspicuous  corner. 

"  I  don't  think  there 's  any  need  of  your  stay- 
ing," Walter  told  him. 

"  I  want  to  stay,"  answered  Stirling.  "  I  won't 
be  in  the  way,"  he  added. 

The  man  and  the  boy,  who  were  almost  strangers, 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  finding  a  common 
grief,  grasped  hands  silently. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  all  up  with  him,"  said  Walter, 
as  they  fell  in  pace  side  by  side. 

"  He  may  have  only  wanted  to  make  sure  of  us 
in  case  anything  happened  on  the  voyage,"  sug- 
gested Stirling. 

"  Why,  that 's  so !  I  never  thought  of  that." 
Then  Walter  added  with  quick  hopefulness,  "  Per- 
haps he  is  better ;  perhaps  the  Paris  doctor  could 
cure  him." 

Ill 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"No,  he  would  not  have  cabled  in  that  case," 
objected  Stirling.  Then  he  fixed  his  quiet,  obser- 
vant eyes  on  Walter.  "  Why  did  Mr.  Howard  go 
to  Paris  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  older  man  betrayed  himself  by  a  minute's 
hesitation. 

"  He  said  it  was  to  consult  an  oculist,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Did  you  believe  him  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  did  n't." 

Walter  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  set- 
tled his  chin  into  it.  "  It  is  little  good  he  will  get 
out  of  whatever  he  goes  for,"  he  said,  with  gloomy 
impatience. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  she  does  n't  care  for 
him?" 

"She?  — who?" 

"  The  woman  he  went  abroad  to  see." 

Walter  glanced  suspiciously  over  the  edge  of 
his  collar.  "  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  I  did  n't  tell 
you  that,  did  I  ?  " 

Stirling  smiled  a  little.  "  No,  you  did  n't  exactly 
tell  me." 

Walter  felt  something  akin  to  awe  of  this  slight, 
pale-faced  boy.  "  I  suppose  it's  your  legal  training," 
he  remarked  inconsequently.  "  Is  this  process  to 
112 


SHADOWS 

which  you  have  subjected  me  commonly  known  as 
cross-examination  ?  " 

"Not  exactly."  Stirling  smiled  again.  He 
was  thinking  that  law  cases  would  be  vastly  sim- 
plified if  all  witnesses  were  as  ingenuous  as  this 
big,  gentle-eyed  man. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  settle  upon  a  woman 
as  the  reason  of  Dan's  trip  ?  "  asked  Walter. 

"By  the  process  of  elimination.  I  could  see 
the  doctor  was  only  an  excuse,  and  owing  to  his 
dependence  on  my  eyes  I  knew  he  could  have  few 
or  no  business  secrets  from  me.  So  I  argued  that 
it  must  be  a  personal  matter;  but  only  about  a 
woman  would  a  man  be  so  secretive.  The  day  he 
sailed  he  said  I  was  to  open  all  his  letters  save  any 
that  might  come  from  Paris.  One  came  a  few  days 
later,  and  it  was  in  a  woman's  handwriting.  I  sup- 
posed he  had  crossed  the  ocean  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him." 

Walter  shook  his  head.  "Dan  will  never  do 
that  now." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  There  was  no  longer  occasion 
for  shrewd  suspicion  of  superficial  motives,  and 
Stirling  was  talking  like  a  boy  again. 

"He  wouldn't  think  it  right  if  he  were  blind." 

"  But  if  they  loved  each  other  ?  " 

"  He  would  n't  think  it  honorable  even  then." 
113 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  She  might." 

"  Yes  —  she  might." 

"  You  mean  she  does  n't  care  for  him?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  anything.  He  never  mentions 
her  name  to  me.  I  know  no  more  than  the  rest  of 
his  acquaintances." 

Stirling  longed  to  know  more,  and  did  not  doubt 
his  ability  to  entrap  Walter  into  a  partial  confes- 
sion, but  a  nice  sense  of  honor  kept  him  silent. 

They  paced  the  dismal,  draughty  place  for  some 
time  without  speaking.  There  was  a  growing  bus- 
tle from  cabmen  and  custom-house  officials;  but 
no  steamer  came  in  sight. 

At  last  they  paused  on  the  edge  of  the  wharf  and 
looked  seaward. 

"  There  she  is ! "  cried  Stirling  suddenly. 

"  You  're  right,"  said  Walter,  and  in  silence  they 
watched  the  ocean  monster  enter  the  harbor. 

"I  wish  it  were  over,"  said  Stirling,  at  last. 

"  If  it  were  any  one  in  the  world  but  Dan." 
Walter's  voice  was  husky. 

"  I  know,"  answered  Stirling.  For  a  moment 
Walter  dropped  his  eyes  from  the  incoming  steamer 
to  the  boy's  face. 

"  You  have  n't  known  him  long." 

Stirling  kept  his  face  turned  seaward.  "  He 
has  been  very  generous  about  helping  me  —  with 
114 


SHADOWS 

money  to  move  my  mother,  and  —  but  it  isn't 
only  that." 

"  I  know,"  said  Walter  in  his  turn. 

They  were  silent  again  till  the  steamer  came  near 
enough  for  the  faces  to  be  distinguished. 

"  Do  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Walter. 

"Not  yet." 

A  little  crowd  pressed  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf. 
Some  one  jostled  Garrison's  shoulder. 

"  Waiting  for  Daniel  Howard  ?  "  asked  a  man's 
voice. 

"Yes." 

"So  am  I."  Walter  recognized  a  prominent 
politician. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  him  ?  "  he  asked.     "  He 

—  he  is  not  well." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  that.  We  want  him  to  speak 
next  Thursday  at  a  meeting  of  the  sound-money 
Democrats." 

"  He  won't  do  it,"  said  Walter. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  '11  give  him  the  chance,"  drawled 
the  man. 

"  I  see  him,"  cried  Stirling  quickly.  "  There, 
standing  by  one  of  those  —  what  do  you  call  'em  ? 

—  they  look  like  magnified  trumpets  and  are  painted 
red  inside.     He  is  talking  to  a  steward,  he  is  feeing 
him  —  he  is  all  right !  " 

115 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  see  him,  dear  old  Dan.     Yes,  lie  is  all  right.*' 

Walter  wrung  Stirling's  hand. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  cured." 

"  Why  did  he  cable,  then  ?  " 

In  a  little  while  the  gang-plank  was  flung  to  the 
steamer's  deck,  and  an  eager  stream  of  passengers 
passed  over  it.  Dan,  walking  leisurely,  came  down 
among  the  last. 

"Well,  Dan,"  was  Walter's  only  greeting  as 
he  grasped  his  hand. 

"  So  you  came,"  answered  Dan.  "  I  did  n't  need 
you,  but  I  thought  I  might.  Hullo,  Stirling,  you 
here  too  ?  I  could  n't  have  needed  you  both  in  any 


"  I  wanted  to  come,"  explained  the  boy. 

"  That 's  all  right.     Who  is  this  ?  " 

The  politician  stepped  up.  "  Don't  you  remem- 
ber me,  Mr.  Howard  ?  I  am  Jim  Allison  of  "  — 
He  passed  his  arm  through  Dan's  and  drew  him  to 
one  side. 

"  Will  he  do  it?"  asked  Stirling. 

"Yes." 

"  How  can  he  —  now  ?  " 

"  That 's  Dan,"  answered  Walter. 

The  conference  was  a  short  one,  and  Dan  dis- 
missed the  man  with  a  careless  nod. 

"  Are  you  going  to  speak  for  him  ?  "  asked  Walter. 
116 


SHADOWS 

"  Yes ;  I  have  wanted  a  fling  on  the  sound  money 
question  for  some  time." 

"  Is  this  the  time  to  have  it?  " 

"  It  is  as  good  as  any  other." 

"  Are  you  better  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  pretty  bad ;  and  there  is  always  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  it  will  be  worse  before  it  is 
better,"  answered  Dan  with  an  attempt  to  smile. 
"The  operation  left  me  so  much  worse,  that  I 
did  n't  expect  to  be  able  to  find  my  way  down  the 
gangway  alone  by  the  time  I  reached  home." 

"  The  operation  !  "  exclaimed  Walter.  "  You 
said  nothing  to  me  of  that." 

"  There  was  little  to  say.  I  was  offered  the  pro- 
bability of  immediate  increase  in  loss  of  sight,  for 
the  improbability  of  arresting  the  disease.  Natu- 
rally, I  took  the  chance  —  and  lost  it." 

Walter  offered  no  sympathy.  "  You  ought  to 
have  cabled  me,"  he  said.  "  One  of  us  could  have 
gone  over." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  you  are  more  of  a  fool  than 
most  of  us,  Wally,"  was  the  answer.  "  But  I 
won't  deny  that  I  wanted  you  —  rather.  It  was 
dismal  coming  out  of  it." 

In  Dan's  worn,  deeply  lined  face  there  was  more 
of  gravity  and  less  of  harshness  than  when  he  went 
away,  and  his  lips  were  showing  something  of  the 
117 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

austere  strength  which  was  to  be  theirs  in  the  years 
to  come. 

After  Stirling  had  been  sent  to  the  office  for  some 
business  papers,  the  two  friends  drove  home  almost 
in  silence.  Once  within  the  old  room  Dan  put  a 
strong  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  and  wheeled 
him  to  the  window. 

"  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  you,"  he  said ;  and 
looking,  the  lines  in  his  face  softened  somewhat. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  again,"  he  commented  at 
last.  "  I  can  see  you  right  enough  in  this  light.  I 
thought  I  could  n't,  at  the  wharf."  The  two  men 
faced  each  other  a  little  longer  in  silence ;  then  Dan 
smiled. 

"Do  you  remember  where  we  used  to  hide  our 
fishing  tackle  on  old  Scotch  Henty's  farm  ? "  he 
risked,  with  a  half  quizzical,  half  wistful  look  which 
sat  oddly  on  his  gaunt  face. 

Walter  nodded  in  silence. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  of  his  Scotch  oaths  we  could 
remember  now,"  went  on  Dan.  "  We  used  to  share 
our  luncheon  in  those  days ;  we  have  shared  nearly 
everything  since ;  but  the  time  has  come  when  we 
share  things  no  longer.  Lucky  for  you  we  don't, 
is  n't  it,  Wally?" 

Walter  shook  off  the  detaining  hand  and  paced 
the  room,  swearing  softly  under  his  breath.  For  a 
118 


SHADOWS 

little  while  Dan  watched  him  in  silence ;  then  he 
clapped  him  on  the  back  with  rough  affection. 

"  Dinna  greet  for  me,  lad,"  he  said.  "  Dinna 
greet.  I  sha'n't  be  found  wanting  when  the  hour 
arrives." 

He  shook  his  huge  frame  as  a  dog  shakes  off 
water  after  a  bath. 

"Just  now  I  feel  like  a  smoke,"  he  went  on. 
"  Give  me  a  light  and  tell  me  the  news." 

Walter  hesitated.  "  I  had  a  letter  this  morning 
that  might  interest  you,"  he  said,  and  handed  him 
an  envelope  with  a  foreign  stamp.  "  Can  you  make 
it  out?" 

"I '11  try;  is  it  legible ?" 

Dan  walked  to  the  window,  and  as  his  back  was 
turned  Walter  could  not  see  if  his  face  changed 
when  he  recognized  Winifred's  firm  handwriting. 
The  note  was  short :  — 

MY  DEAR  MR.  GARRISON  (it  ran).  Will  you 
kindly  send  me  Mr.  Howard's  address?  or  else 
some  news  of  him  ?  I  saw  him  a  short  time  ago, 
looking  so  ill  and  seeming  so  unlike  himself  that 
I  am  troubled,  particularly  as  I  have  had  no  word 
from  him  since  then,  and  he  left  me  neither  ad- 
dress nor  clue  to  future  movements. 

Sincerely  yours,        WINIFRED  MEREDITH. 
119 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Dan  took  a  long  time  to  read  these  few  words, 
whether  from  failing  sight  or  emotion  Walter  could 
only  guess.  When  he  turned  round  his  face  was 
impassive. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Walter. 
"  Shall  you  answer  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dan.  "  I  should  like  you  to  write 
her  that  I  am  at  home  and  well." 

"Only  that?" 

"  Only  that." 

"  Then  you  have  not  told  her  "  — 

"  No." 

Walter  took  another  turn  down  the  room  and 
tugged  at  his  mustache. 

"  Of  course  you  know  she  will  have  the  right  to 
feel  hurt." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  Let  me  tell  her  on  my  own  account." 

Dan  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  before 
answering. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  troubling  her  about  it,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  I  don't  care  to  discuss  it.  There 
is  only  one  thing  to  do.  I  am  doing  it,  as  you 
would  in  my  place." 

By  a  reluctant  silence  Walter  acknowledged 
Dan  to  be  in  the  right.  It  is  an  obvious  point 
in  masculine  ethics  that  a  man  who  cannot  see  to 
120 


SHADOWS 

walk  by  himself  must  not  ask  a  woman  to  walk 
with  him. 

During  the  afternoon  Stirling  returned  accord- 
ing to  directions. 

"  You  're  not  going  to  do  business  now ! "  ex- 
claimed Walter. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Better  come  to  the  club»" 

"No.  It  bothers  me  not  to  recognize  people. 
Has  any  one  got  wind  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  You  had  better  go  to  the  club  yourself.  Now, 
then,  Stirling." 

Instead  of  going  to  the  club  Walter  took  a  long, 
never-to-be-forgotten  walk.  He  would  have  given 
his  life  over  and  over  to  save  Dan,  but  apparently 
God  did  not  want  his  life.  Nothing  but  Dan's 
eyesight  would  do.  As  men  go,  Walter  was  a 
good  churchman ;  his  creed  was  simple,  compre- 
hensive, and  up  to  this  moment  had  been  equal  to 
all  demands  put  upon  it,  but  to-day  the  founda- 
tions of  his  belief  rocked.  Walter  was  not  one  to 
read  universal  meanings,  or  to  see  beyond  the  hour. 
It  could  not  be  for  the  best  that  Dan  should  go 
blind,  and  so,  in  this  hour  of  doubt  and  pain, 
Walter  unconsciously  took  Dan's  side  against  the 
Infinite  Powers. 

121 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

He  went  home  to  find  Dan  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  empty  fireplace,  this  being  a  mascu- 
line, if  somewhat  incomprehensible,  attitude  to 
which  he  was  especially  prone.  Stirling  was  put- 
ting papers  together. 

"  Come  in,  Wally,"  said  Dan.  "  We  sha'n't 
worry  you  with  any  more  work  to-day.  It  is  grow- 
ing dark  and  I  can't  afford  to  lose  Stirling's  eyes 
as  well  as  my  own." 

He  spoke  in  a  casual  tone  of  easy  self-posses- 
sion which  was  in  strong  contrast  to  Walter's  de- 
spairing gloom,  and  Stirling's  dumb,  watchful 
anxiety. 

"How  did  your  mother  stand  the  move?"  he 
asked  Stirling. 

"  Very  well,"  began  the  boy  eagerly.  "I  —  we 
can  never  thank  you  enough  for  "  — 

"Nonsense,"  broke  in  Dan,  who  had  not  out- 
grown a  ludicrous  objection  to  being  thanked. 
"  Did  she  resent  your  being  used  as  another  man's 
eyes?" 

"  She  was  as  proud  of  my  connection  with  you 
as  I  am  myself." 

"  Ah,  proud,  you  say  ?    I  should  n't  have  thought 
of  it  in  that  light ;  there  is  little  to  be  proud  of  in 
connection  with  me.     I  suppose  your  mother  and 
sister  think  you  a  very  remarkable  young  man." 
122 


SHADOWS 

"  They  do  exaggerate  things  a  good  deal,"  said 
Stirling  modestly. 

"  Yes,  mothers  and  sisters  have  that  way,  I  be- 
lieve. They  endow  you  with  all  their  own  virtues 
and  add  a  few,  such  as  courage  and  strength, 
wrongly  supposed  to  be  purely  masculine.  You 
have  one  great  objection,  Stirling :  you  are  too  good 
to  be  sworn  at." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  never  give  you  occasion  for 
that,"  answered  the  boy  seriously. 

Dan  reflected  a  few  moments.  "  Stirling,"  he 
said  at  length,  "  did  you  ever  suspect  yourself  to 
be  lacking  in  a  sense  of  humor  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  he  answered,  evidently  puzzled.  "  I 
never  thought  about  it." 

"  So  I  imagined.  It  is  a  pity,  for  it  would  help 
things  along  amazingly.  Well,  never  mind.  You 
may  go  now ;  I  shall  not  need  you  again  this  even- 
ing." 

The  next  day  Dan  went  over  some  of  the  per- 
sonal effects  for  which  he  could  no  longer  find  use. 
There  were  his  books,  collected  during  the  brief 
years  of  his  youth,  when  he  had  found  time  for 
gratifying  his  love  of  the  best  in  literature,  and 
satisfying  his  thirst  for  knowledge  of  the.  great 
thoughts  of  great  minds.  The  dust  lay  on  his 
book -shelves  now,  but  he  passed  his  hands  over 
123 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

them  with  affection.  There  was  a  goodly  company 
of  Greeks  and  Latins  and  the  English  classics,  a 
list  of  immortal  names  dear  to  the  scholar's  heart, 
and  a  fair  representation  of  German  philosophers. 
Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were  side  by  side,  and  Dan 
smiled.  Certainly  his  taste  for  reading  had  been 
catholic.  On  the  lower  shelves  were  the  modern 
poets  of  modern  tongues,  and  many  a  well-thumbed 
volume  of  political  economy,  social  reform,  and 
the  revolutionary  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. 

Dan  reflected  that  he  had  certainly  made  the 
best  of  life  while  it  had  been  under  his  own  order- 
ing, nor  had  the  light  of  his  eyes  been  wasted. 
Had  action  tempted  him  less,  scholarship  had 
tempted  him  more ;  as  it  was,  he  had  secretly 
nourished  visions  of  years  to  come  when  he  could 
own  a  library  of  worth,  and  enjoy  it  with  Winifred. 
He  smiled  now  at  the  futility  of  his  dream.  There 
had  been  two  summers  when  Winifred  had  learned 
and  read  Greek  with  him.  He  was  proud  to  re- 
member her  appreciation  of  the  rugged,  remote 
sublimity  of  ^Eschylus,  and  her  enjoyment  of  the 
more  human  and  versatile  Sophocles.  He  could 
never  read  a  line  of  his  books  again,  and  was  puz- 
zled to  know  how  to  dispose  of  them.  There  was 
Winifred ;  but  she  no  longer  cared  for  books. 
124 


SHADOWS 

The  vision  of  a  life  before  the  world  had  dazzled 
her  eyes.  He  knew  that  her  ambition  was  more 
the  result  of  abundant  vitality  than  of  desire  for 
gratified  vanity,  but  in  the  mean  time  it  sucked  the 
life  of  her  mind  like  a  vampire.  When  she  had 
conquered  the  longed-for  lands  she  would  find  how 
little  they  were  worth,  and  then,  but  not  till  then, 
would  she  recognize  her  own.  He  decided  to  keep 
his  little  library  in  expectation  of  a  day  when  they 
might  find  room  in  her  house  and  mind.  There 
was  no  one  else  to  want  them !  Few  men  were  as 
detached  from  ties  of  relationship  as  himself,  and 
he  was  glad  now  that  there  was  neither  father, 
mother,  nor  sister  to  grieve  when  he  entered  into 
the  life  that  was  no  life,  the  death  that  was  no 
death. 

In  a  carefully  locked  drawer  were  Winifred's 
letters,  everything  she  had  ever  written  him  since 
the  day  he  first  knew  and  told  her  of  his  love. 
The  package  was  not  large,  for  she  had  never 
been  a  good  correspondent.  He  undid  the  twine 
that  held  it,  and  slowly,  one  by  one,  he  handled 
the  letters.  The  handwriting  was  blurred  to  his 
failing  sight,  but  one  of  the  envelopes,  addressed 
in  larger  letters  than  the  others,  he  opened  and 
read :  "  You  are  always  so  cross  when  I  thank  you 
for  anything ;  but  please  let  me  say  how  delighted 
125 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

I  was  with  "  —  Then  the  letters  grew  dim  and 
confused  under  his  eyes.  The  words  were  from 
the  past  of  his  dead  hope  and  living  love.  With 
the  letter  crushed  in  his  hand  he  stretched  his 
arms  across  the  table  and  dropped  his  head  on 
them.  So  he  stayed  during  the  long  sunny  after- 
noon ;  but  when  the  dusk  came  he  rose,  and  gather- 
ing up  her  letters,  burned  them  one  by  one  in  the 
empty  grate. 

It  was  several  days  after  this  that  he  came  home 
late  to  find  Walter  waiting  for  him  with  ill-con- 
cealed anxiety. 

"  What  did  you  suppose  had  happened  to  me  ?  " 
Dan  dropped  into  a  chair  and  stretched  his  long 
legs.  "  Don't  make  me  feel  like  a  child  under 
orders  any  sooner  than  is  necessary,"  he  said. 

Walter  paced  the  room.  "There  are  the 
churches,"  he  suggested,  doubtfully  and  relevantly 
of  nothing. 

"  Not  for  me,"  was  the  answer.  "  There  are 
questions  to  which  a  man  may  find  the  answer  only 
in  his  own  soul." 

"I  wish  I  could  say  something,"  Walter  said 
huskily. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  can't." 

"  How  is  it  going  ?  " 

"  Time  allowance  is  getting  short." 
126 


SHADOWS 

"  Do  you  still  have  pain  ?  I  heard  you  walking 
your  room  last  night." 

"  I  should  n't  mind  the  pain  if  every  attack  did 
not  take  something  from  my  sight." 

Walter  made  an  inarticulate  exclamation,  then 
he  said  aloud,  "  If  you  only  would  n't  be  so  infer- 
nally uncomplaining  about  it." 

"  Bah !  I  am  not  a  dog  to  whine,"  answered 
Dan.  Then  he  added  more  gravely,  "  I  can't  be 
peevish,  it 's  rather  too  solemn  —  this  slow  passing 
from  light  into  darkness.  It  is  the  renunciation  of 
life  without  the  release  of  death,"  he  added  a  little 
later,  which  was  the  only  revelation  of  personal 
feeling  he  was  ever  heard  to  make. 
127 


Chapter  X 

DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

A  FEW  days  later  Dan  came  into  Walter's 
office  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Have  you  anything  on  for  this  evening  ?  "  he 
asked,  "  because  if  you  have  n't  I  should  like  you 
to  go  with  me  to  the  political  meeting  at  which  I 
have  been  asked  to  speak." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  answered  Walter.  "  Wait 
a  moment ;  I  '11  go  along  with  you  now,  if  you  're 
going  home." 

"  I  want  you  to  come  because  I  hate  being  alone 
in  a  crowd,"  explained  Dan  a  little  later,  as  they 
pushed  their  way  through  the  streets.  "  My  nerve 
is  going,"  he  added  with  grim  disgust. 

Walter  looked  into  the  haggard  face.  "  Your 
nerve  would  be  all  right  if  you  would  go  to  bed  at 
reasonable  hours,"  he  suggested. 

Dan  shook  his  head.     "  It  is  n't  that.     I  am  a 

coward,"  he  said.     "  I  am  afraid  every  minute  of 

the  day  and  night  of  being  suddenly  left  in  the 

dark.     I  can't  cross  these  down-town  streets  with 

128 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

out  getting  damp  with  fear,  because  I  don't  make 
out  which  way  the  cars  are  going  till  they  get  on 
to  me." 

As  he  spoke  they  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  great 
thoroughfare  swarming  with  electric  cars  and  teams. 
Walter  slipped  his  arm  through  Dan's. 

"  Come  along  with  me,"  he  said.  The  help  was 
accepted  in  silence,  and  Dan  learned  his  first  agoniz- 
ing lesson  of  dependence. 

"  What  a  pity  there  is  such  a  prejudice  against 
sending  bullets  through  the  hearts  of  superfluous 
human  wretches !  "  he  remarked. 

That  night  Dan  spoke,  and  Walter  watched  him 
anxiously  from  a  front  bench.  "  The  light  is  badly 
arranged ;  it  must  trouble  him,"  he  thought,  look- 
ing with  disgust  at  a  powerful  electric  jet  that  was 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  almost  on  a  line  with 
the  speaker's  eyes. 

Dan  was  not  at  his  best.  He  showed  his  usual 
grasp  of  the  situation  in  its  entirety  as  well  as  in 
technical  detail,  and  there  were  occasional  flashes 
of  subtle  wit,  stinging  rather  than  humorous ;  but 
in  every  tone  and  gesture  there  was  a  sense  of 
effort,  and  the  usual  compelling  magnetism  of  his 
personality  was  lacking.  The  audience  listened 
attentively,  partly  convinced  by  his  unanswerable 
logic,  but  unenthusiastic.  Suddenly  Dan's  voice 
129 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

faltered  and  a  gray  shadow  fell  on  his  face.  With 
bent  head  his  body  swayed  forward  till  his  hand 
rested  heavily  on  the  table  beside  him. 

There  was  a  moment  of  breathless  silence,  and 
then  an  uncomfortable  movement  throughout  the 
hall.  A  friend  on  the  platform  stepped  for- 
ward quickly  and  said  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 
Walter  hurried  to  the  stage,  but  as  he  entered 
the  door  Dan  raised  his  head  with  the  movement 
of  a  hunted  animal  at  bay,  and  began  to  speak 
again.  His  words  came  slowly,  doubtfully  at  first, 
but  with  increasing  confidence  and  power,  till 
Walter's  fear  was  lost  in  wonder.  He  felt  the 
pulse  of  the  great  assembly  quicken  and  vibrate  in 
response  to  an  eloquence  that  was  new  to  Dan. 
Never  had  he  spoken  with  the  nobility  of  thought, 
with  the  breadth  and  passion  that  were  his  in  this 
hour.  Campaigning  issues  were  forgotten ;  a  poli- 
tician was  not  speaking  to  a  party,  but  a  statesman 
to  a  people,  and  the  crowd  were  moved  by  his  words 
as  a  grain-field  is  swayed  by  the  wind. 

In  the  breathlessness  of  that  awful  moment  when 
he  stood  bowed  and  dumb  before  the  great  audi- 
ence, blindness  had  come  to  Dan.  Every  force  of 
the  man's  being  rose  to  meet  the  occasion,  and  so 
far  overleaped  it  that  he  could  command  mind, 
nerve,  and  people.  His  convictions,  sluggish  be- 
130 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

fore,  were  forged  in  the  white-hot  passion  of  his 
suffering ;  his  mind  and  will,  strengthened  by 
months  of  conquering  struggle,  rose  triumphant 
over  this  moment  of  supreme  pain. 

There  is  no  power  greater  or  more  mysterious 
than  that  of  eloquence  ;  there  is  no  race  more 
easily  fired  by  it  than  the  shrewd,  proverbially 
calculating  American.  On  this  night  the  man 
must  believe  where  the  reason  was  unconvinced. 
The  dishonest  were  honest.  Those  who  had  lived 
sordidly  found  themselves  thinking  loftily.  Those 
who  had  known  nothing  beyond  party  issues  were 
aglow  with  patriotism.  In  this  electric  hour  men 
were  not  what  they  had  been,  but  what  the  speaker 
chose  them  to  be,  and  none  present  ever  forgot 
the  ringing  words,  or  the  pale  impassioned  face 
of  the  young  orator  as  he  stood  in  the  glare  of  the 
lights,  pleading  for  the  integrity  of  our  national 
life. 

As  the  last  sentence  died  away  Dan  put  out  his 
hands,  and  staggered  with  a  groan  that  was  lost  in 
the  wild  applause  that  greeted  the  close  of  his 
speech.  Several  people  sprang  to  his  side,  but 
Walter  reached  him  first  and  led  him  away.  There 
was  much  shouting,  and  whistling,  and  insistent  calls 
for  his  reappearance.  Some  excited  young  spirits 
struck  up  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner,"  which 
131 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

was  taken  up  by  many  voices  in  many  keys.  The 
walls  shook  with  noise  and  the  shuffling  of  feet.  In 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  an  opposition  leader 
struggled  to  the  platform  and  tried  to  make  him- 
self heard,  but  his  words  were  drowned  and  his 
passionate  gestures  were  futile  and  ridiculous  in  the 
babel.  The  people  roared  at  him  good-naturedly. 
A  few  cool  heads  came  together  to  discuss  the 
speech,  and  the  speaker.  It  had  been  a  big  speech, 
they  said,  and  Howard  was  going  to  be  a  big  man, 
a  dangerous  man  possibly,  a  power  to  be  reck- 
oned with  by  the  coming  administration. 

"  He  is  an  honest  man,"  said  one. 

"  Yes,  and  he  will  make  other  men  honest,  curse 
him  !  "  was  the  answer,  and  then  individual  words 
were  drowned  in  another  wave  of  enthusiasm,  and 
there  were  ringing  cheers  and  calls  for  Daniel 
Howard,  who  never  came. 

In  the  coat-room  he  reeled  like  a  drunken  man, 
and  clung  to  Walter.  "  Don't  leave  me,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "  It  has  come." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Steady,  boy.  I  am  not  going 
far  —  just  to  get  our  coats." 

"  Take  me  with  you,"  he  pleaded. 

So  Walter  took  him,  and  while  hundreds  of 
voices  shouted  his  name  in  the  hall  they  had  left, 
Dan  stood  a  broken,  helpless  man,  clinging  to  his 
132 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

friend's  arm  with  groping  fingers.  "  It  came 
suddenly  before  I  got  through  speaking,"  he 
said. 

"  I  know,"  answered  Walter  again. 

They  went  out  into  the  lighted  streets,  and  the 
agony  of  the  hours  that  followed  was  burned  for- 
ever into  the  consciousness  of  both.  Dan  refused 
to  be  taken  home,  and  they  walked  all  night 
through  a  driving  rain  and  bitter  wind.  He  was 
maddened  with  physical  pain  that  did  not  subside 
with  loss  of  sight,  and  after  the  long  strain  of  sleep- 
less nights  and  mental  anguish  his  nerves  had  given 
way.  He  lurched  heavily  in  walking  and  blamed 
Walter  for  letting  him  stumble,  and  there  were  ter- 
rible times  when  he  fought  for  the  light  with  his 
hands,  as  a  drowning  man  fights  for  air.  At  those 
moments  Walter  held  him  with  all  his  strength  and 
with  a  prayer  on  his  lips.  The  night  seemed  an 
aeon  of  chaotic  and  hideous  darkness.  It  was  not 
till  the  east  grew  pale  that  Dan  allowed  himself  to 
be  forced  upon  a  bench,  and,  leaning  his  head 
against  a  tree  behind  him,  fell  into  the  unconscious- 
ness of  utter  exhaustion. 

They  had  come  out  of  the  city,  and  Walter, 
wide-eyed  and  alert,  waited  beside  his  friend, 
watching  the  black  outline  of  distant  houses  de- 
tach itself  from  a  brightening  sky,  while  the  rain 
133 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

ceased,  the  clouds  drifted  seaward,  and  the  stars, 
immeasurably  serene  and  distant,  faded  from  his 
view. 

In  a  gray  dawn  the  earth  lay  spent  and  still  and 
ghostly,  exhausted  from  the  storm  of  the  night,  and 
in  the  growing  light  Walter  could  see  Dan's  face, 
weary  and  spent  also,  but  quiet  at  last.  The  com- 
ing day  sent  a  breath  out  from  the  east,  the  naked 
trees  stirred,  and  there  was  an  undefined  whisper 
of  awakening  life  through  the  fields  and  woods. 
Suddenly  the  sun  shot  up,  glorious  and  mighty  ;  a 
thousand  voices  answered  his  joyous  challenge,  and 
the  brown  earth  was  on  fire  with  sparkling  rain- 
drops. 

Dan  moved  and  opened  his  eyes.  The  sun  shone 
straight  into  them,  but  could  bring  no  life  or  light 
there.  For  a  few  moments  he  was  silent.  His  face 
looked  too  weary  for  further  emotion ;  then  he 
raised  his  head  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"  You  are  there,  Walter  ?  "  he  asked. 

Walter  slipped  his  arm  round  Dan's  shoulders. 
"  Yes,  old  man.  Shall  we  go  home  now  ?  "  Then 
he  feared  the  unwonted  gentleness  of  his  tone 
might  be  resented,  but  Dan  appeared  to  notice 
neither  words  nor  gesture.  He  did  not  speak  again 
at  once. 

"  Are  we  in  the  country  ?  "  he  asked  finally  in  a 
134 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

strangely  dead  voice.  "I  seem  to  hear  things 
singing." 

"  Yes,  nearly  as  far  as  Newton." 

"  Is  it  daylight  ?  " 

"  The  sun  rose  about  five  minutes  ago." 

"  The  sun  rose  five  minutes  ago."  Dan  repeated 
the  words  slowly  and  paused  as  if  adjusting  him- 
self to  the  fact,  but  there  was  no  change  in  the 
utterly  weary  lines  of  his  face.  He  rose  heavily. 
"  Let  us  go  home,"  he  said,  but  after  walking  a  few 
steps  he  stopped.  "  We  must  find  a  cab  or  some- 
thing," he  announced.  "  I  am  done  up.  I  have 
been  down  to  hell,  and  don't  feel  sure  I  am  back 
alive." 

They  were  near  a  small  suburb  where  a  carriage 
was  easily  obtainable  in  spite  of  the  hour.  Almost 
in  silence  they  drove  home.  Dan  shivered  once 
and  felt  wonderingly  of  his  coat,  then  of  Walter's. 

"  We  are  wet,"  he  said.    "  It  must  have  rained." 

"It  did,  nearly  all  night." 

"I  never  noticed  it.  It  can't  have  been  good 
for  your  neuralgia." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Walter,  somewhat  in- 
articulately. He  put  his  hand  on  Dan's  knee  and 
neither  of  them  spoke  again.  When  the  carriage 
drew  up  before  their  lodgings,  the  city  was  well 
awake,  and  by  the  time  Dan  had  been  laboriously 
135 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  ROAD 

and  distressfully  gotten  into  dry  clothes,  and  pre- 
vailed upon  to  take  a  cup  of  tea,  it  was  time  to  go 
down  town. 

"  Are  you  here  still,  Walter  ?  "  asked  Dan ;  he  sat 
in  an  armchair  with  his  head  sunk  on  his  chest. 

Walter  put  his  hand  on  Dan's  shoulder. 

"  Dan  —  old  fellow  "  —  he  said  brokenly. 

"  Yes,  —  I  understand ;  don't  try  to  say  it, 
Wally." 

Walter's  breath  labored  with  a  great  sob. 

"  We  can't  have  any  of  that,"  said  Dan.  "  You 
had  better  go ;  I  heard  the  clock  strike ;  I  am 
best  alone." 

"  I  '11  behave  myself  if  you  let  me  stay." 

"No.  I  must  fight  it  out  alone.  There  is  a 
strangeness  and  horror  just  at  first ;  but  there 's 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  —  that  there  's  plenty 
of  time  in  which  to  get  used  to  it."  He  spoke  with 
effort  through  stiffened  lips. 

"  Can't  I  do  something  for  you  down  town  ?  " 

"Go  to  the  office,  and  tell  Stirling  and  the 
others.  Stirling  can  come  round  to-morrow." 

"Anything  else?" 

Dan  collected  his  thoughts  with  evident  diffi- 
culty. "  I  had  an  appointment  at  the  club  with 
Rowland,  and  one  or  two  others.  Tell  'em  —  I 
can't  go  because  I  am  blind.  But  tell  'em  I  am  all 
136 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

right ;  they  are  not  to  come  round  to  sympathize 
—  and  all  that." 

Reluctantly  Walter  left  him  and  heard  the  key 
turn  on  the  inside  of  the  study  door  as  he  closed  it. 
The  sound  startled  him.  He  paused  and  rattled 
the  handle. 

"  Unless  you  swear  not  to  do  anything  rash,  I  '11 
break  down  the  door,"  he  called. 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  came  Dan's  voice  with  some- 
thing of  its  old  spirit.  "What  do  you  take  me 
for?" 

Walter  was  satisfied.  From  Dan  bowed  in  his 
armchair,  from  the  despair  of  Dan's  ruined  life, 
and  the  tragedy  of  Dan's  sightless  eyes,  Walter 
went  into  the  busy  streets.  In  his  slow  deep  way 
he  almost  hated  the  light  and  life,  because  Dan 
could  no  longer  share  them. 

The  morning  papers  were  full  of  the  great 
speech ;  they  spoke  in  flowery  language  of  "  the 
young  orator  whose  star  had  just  risen  above  the 
nation's  horizon."  Walter  read  with  a  set  face. 
He  felt  like  dashing  his  head  against  the  wall  in 
impotent  rage  and  pain.  When  he  entered  Dan's 
office,  Stirling  rose  to  meet  him  with  a  pale,  ques- 
tioning face. 

"  Has  it "  —  he  began. 

Walter  nodded. 

137 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Last  night  —  at  the  speech  ?  "  questioned  Stir- 
ling. 

Walter  nodded  again. 

"  I  thought  so.  I  was  there."  There  was  a 
short  silence.  Stirling  mechanically  put  some 
papers  together,  and  the  two  men  in  Dan's  em- 
ployment looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  Does  he  want  me  ?  " 

"  To-morrow.     Tell  the  other  fellows  ;  I  can't." 

One  of  the  men  rose  and  came  forward.  "  Mr. 
Howard  spoke  to  us  himself  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"  It 's  all  up  with  him  to-day,"  said  Walter. 

"  That 's  a  pretty  close  call ;  we  ought  to  have 
been  told  sooner,"  said  the  man.  "  1  am  more 
sorry  for  Mr.  Howard  than  I  ever  was  for  any  one 
in  my  life ;  but  business  is  business.  I  can't  af- 
ford to  trust  my  fortunes  with  a  man  handicapped 
by  blindness." 

"  Better  get  out  of  the  office  then,"  said  Walter, 
goaded  into  unusual  roughness. 

"  And  lose  my  half-year's  pay  ?  " 

"  You  '11  get  it  all  right,"  said  Stirling,  flushing 
angrily. 

"  What  security  have  I  of  that  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Howard's  word." 

*'  Ah,  I  did  n't  know  you  were  in  his  confidence. 
Then  I  guess  I  '11  go.  Coming  with  me,  Cooledge  ?  " 
138 


DAN'S  LIGHTS  GO  OUT 

"  No,"  said  the  other. 

"  Nonsense,  man  ;  business  is  business." 

"I  stay  as  matter  of  business.  I  had  rather 
trust  my  fortune  with  Mr.  Howard  blind  than  with 
most  lawyers  who  can  see." 

"  And  I  had  rather  lose  a  fortune  with  Mr. 
Howard  than  make  it  with  any  other,"  said  the  boy 
defiantly. 

Walter  listened  dully  to  this  discussion.  "  I  had 
better  be  going,"  he  interrupted.  "  Be  sure  you 
come  round  early  to-morrow." 

Stirling  followed  him  to  the  door.  "  I  wish  I 
might  go  to-day,"  he  said  wistfully. 

"  Better  not ;  you  know  how  he  is  when  he  says 
a  thing." 

Stirling  still  lingered.  "  Tell  him  "  —  he  began, 
then  added  quickly,  "  No,  there  is  nothing  one  can 
tell  him." 

"  That 's  just  it,"  said  Walter.  He  moved  and 
spoke  like  one  in  a  stupor ;  the  whole  world  might 
die  or  suffer,  but  Dan  — 

Before  night  he  was  besieged  by  questions  from 
friends  and  reporters.  There  was  nothing  to  tell 
except  the  bald  fact  that  Daniel  Howard  had  gone 
stone  blind ;  but  as  facts  go,  this  was  a  startling 
one.  At  the  clubs  little  else  was  talked  of. 

"  Howard,  of  all  men  !  "  was  the  most  usual  ex- 
139 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

clamation.  "  Poor  fellow,  does  he  take  it  hard  ?  " 
asked  one  of  his  friends. 

"  How  would  you  expect  him  to  take  it?"  asked 
Walter  angrily. 

"Jove!  I  know  how  I'd  take  it!"  exclaimed 
a  prominent  stock  broker.  "  I  'd  knock  my  brains 
out  against  the  first  stone  I  stumbled  over." 

"I  shouldn't  wait  to  stumble,"  said  the  first 
speaker.  "  Imagine  Daniel  Howard  stumbling  !  " 

There  were  many  things  for  Walter  to  do  that 
day,  and  all  the  time  he  saw  Dan  sitting  alone  in 
the  dark.  There  were  moments  when  he  heard 
again  the  click  of  the  turning  lock.  Why  had  Dan 
locked  himself  in  ?  He  shivered  as  he  ran  up  the 
stairs  of  his  lodgings  two  hours  earlier  than  usual. 
The  door  opened  easily  to  his  hand,  and  all  he  found 
was  a  lonely  man  who  had  grown  old  in  a  single 
day,  and  on  whom  some  mysterious  seal  had  already 
descended  which  set  him  forever  apart  from  other 

men. 

140 


Chapter   XI 

TEMPTATION 

MRS.  RANDOLPH  and  her  daughter  sat 
over  their  French  coffee  and  rolls.  It  was 
a  warm  day  for  March,  even  in  Paris,  and  the 
windows  were  carefully  shaded  by  Venetian  blinds ; 
but  the  blinds  had  been  long  unused ;  they  fastened 
imperfectly,  so  that  a  ray  of  sunlight  strayed 
through  them  and  rested  on  Kate's  face,  and 
Kate's  mother  was  looking  at  her  with  sudden 
awakening. 

"  She  is  growing  old,"  Mrs.  Randolph  told  her- 
self. "  You  are  not  eating  anything,"  she  said 
aloud. 

"  I  can't,  mamma ;  food  chokes  me.  Are  you 
quite  sure  there  was  no  American  mail  last  night  ? 
Did  Louise  ask  the  concierge  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  to  do  so.  Try  to  eat  something, 
Kate.  It  is  not  becoming  to  you  to  be  thin." 

"  I  know  it  —  I  shall  be  a  very  plain  old  maid. 
I  wish  papa  would  write.     It  is  not  kind  to  leave 
us  so  long  without  home  news." 
141 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"What  are  you  expecting  to  hear?  You  are 
not  usually  so  anxious  for  news  from  Boston." 

Kate  was  silent. 

"  Your  father  does  n't  often  trouble  us  with  let- 
ters," continued  her  mother  tranquilly. 

"  No,  he  is  too  good  for  us." 

"  My  dear  !  "  Mrs.  Randolph  put  down  her  cup 
and  looked  at  Kate  with  displeasure.  "  My  dear ! 
I  think  you  are  forgetting  yourself." 

"  On  the  contrary,  mamma,  I  am  remember- 
ing." Kate  pushed  back  her  chair  and  flung  her- 
self on  the  sofa.  There  was  abandoned  misery  in 
her  attitude,  and  in  her  face  something  that  neither 
years  nor  illness  could  explain.  Mrs.  Randolph 
understood  little,  but  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to 
speak. 

"  Kate,  my  dear,"  she  began. 

Kate  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Kate  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Yes,  mamma.     I  am  listening." 

Now  that  it  came  to  the  point  of  speaking,  Mrs. 
Randolph  found  that  she  had  nothing  to  say.  "  I 
think  it  is  time  you  should  end  this  sort  of  thing," 
she  said  vaguely. 

"  What  sort  of  thing  ?  " 
142 


TEMPTATION 

"  Why,  not  eating,  and  making  strange  remarks 
about  other  people  being  better  than  we  are,  and 
calling  yourself  an  old  maid.  You  know  well 
enough  what  I  mean." 

Kate  turned  wearily  on  her  side.  "  What  do  you 
want  me  to  do?  "  she  asked. 

Her  mother's  wishes  became  suddenly  and  start- 
lingly  definite. 

"  I  want  you  to  marry  Lord  de  Normandy,"  she 
said. 

"  I  have  told  you  often  that  I  cannot  marry." 

Her  mother  began  to  cry  weakly.  "I  don't 
know  what  I  have  brought  you  up  for,"  she  pro- 
tested, "or  how  I  could  have  done  differently. 
Why  should  you  reproach  me  for  your  being  un- 
happy ?  I  always  sent  you  to  the  best  schools,  and 
took  you  where  you  could  meet  the  best  people, 
and  never  spared  money  on  the  best  dressmakers." 

"  I  don't  reproach  you,  mamma,"  answered  Kate 
wearily.  "  We  have  n't  either  of  us  made  much 
of  our  lives ;  but  I  am  more  to  blame  than  you, 
for  you  lack  in  some  essential  —  I  don't  know  what 
it  is  —  and  I  lack  in  nothing.  I  have  what  other 
women  have,  and  it  tortures  me.  Don't  answer ! 
Don't  argue !  You  can't  understand.  What  is 
that  ?  Some  one  knocked !  "  Kate  sat  up  with 
sudden  eagerness,  and  then  with  a  little  cry  de- 
143 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

scended  on  some  letters  that  were  pushed  under  the 
door.  "  Here  is  one  from  papa,"  she  said  with  an 
odd  breathlessness.  "  May  I  open  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  My  letters  are  my  own.  Give 
it  to  me." 

On  the  point  of  her  self-importance  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph was  unvaryingly  firm.  Kate  yielded,  and 
stood  by  the  window  with  locked  fingers  while  Mrs. 
Randolph  adjusted  her  eyeglasses. 

"  He  tells  me  he  has  sent  our  furs  by  Celeste," 
she  began.  "  They  ought  to  be  here  by  the  twenty- 
third.  That  will  give  us  time  to  have  them  made 
up  before  we  leave  Paris.  I  wonder  if  he  remem- 
bered my  sable  muff  —  let  me  see  —  no,  he  says  no- 
thing more  about  my  affairs  —  how  like  him  !  Here 
is  something  about  Dan.  He  made  a  big  speech. 
What  do  I  care  about  his  speech  ?  Why,  what 
is  this  ?  I  wish  your  father  would  write  more  dis- 
tinctly !  Don't  stand  so  near,  Kate.  You  are  be- 
tween me  and  the  light.  '  Poor  Dan  has  lost  his 
—  his  '  —  it  looks  like  *  eyesight,'  but  he  can't  mean 
that." 

"  I  will  read  it." 

Kate   took   the   letter   quickly  to   the  window. 

"  '  Dan  Howard  made  a  splendid  speech  the  other 
night,'  "  she  read  in  a  hard  voice.  "  '  He  had  an 
electrifying  effect  on  the  audience,  which  makes  his 
144 


TEMPTATION 

great  misfortune  to  be  regretted  on  public  as  well 
as  on  personal  grounds.'  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  is  it?  what  has  he  lost? 
I  hope  it  is  not  his  fortune,  for  I  have  always  hoped 
that  you  might  be  induced  to  fancy  him." 

Kate  gave  a  short  laugh,  or  was  it  a  sob  ?  Mrs. 
Randolph  did  not  know. 

"  *  Poor  Dan  has  lost  his  eyesight,'  "  read  Kate 
with  her  back  to  the  room.  "  '  I  have  expected  it 
for  some  time '  "  — 

"  How  like  your  father,  not  to  have  told  me !  " 

"  *  I  have  expected  it  for  some  time,  but  hardly 
looked  for  it  so  soon.  He  went  blind  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  speech,  which  makes  the  whole  affair 
most  extraordinary.'  " 

Kate  laughed  again.  "  How  dramatic  !  "  she 
said.  "  It  reads  like  something  in  a  play." 

"Don't  be  flippant,  my  dear.  Blindness  is  a 
very  serious  thing." 

The  letter  was  shaking  in  Kate's  fingers.  She 
read  on :  " '  He  is  a  man  of  splendid  courage,  and 
will  meet  this  as  he  would  meet  anything  else  that 
came  to  him  —  with  his  face  to  the  front.'  " 

"  Is  there  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  see.  I  think  I  must  be 
going  blind  too." 

The  letter  dropped. 

145 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  am  glad  you  find  something  to  joke  about," 
said  Mrs.  Randolph  gravely.  "  Poor  Dan !  I  am 
sorry  he  has  gone  blind  and  thus  put  an  end  to 
anything  between  you  two.  I  had  always  hoped 
—  but  blindness  is  even  more  impossible  than  loss 
of  fortune.  Where  are  you  going  ?  Here  is  an- 
other letter.  It  seems  to  be  in  Edith  Meredith's 
handwriting,  and  is  addressed  to  you.  I  did  n't 
know  they  were  in  Paris.  I  suppose  that  disagree- 
able Winifred  is  here  too." 

Kate  carried  her  letter  to  her  own  room. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  knows,"  she  asked  herself,  tear- 
ing open  the  note  with  trembling  fingers. 

"I  saw  your  name  in  the  bank  register,  this 
morning,"  Edith  had  written,  "  and  suppose  you 
must  have  just  come  out.  Do  drop  in  and  have 
tea  with  us  to-morrow.  Win  has  a  good  opportu- 
nity to  tour  in  Russia,  and  we  leave  this  week, 
Heaven  knows  for  how  many  months  or  years.  Did 
you  see  Dan  before  you  left  Boston  ?  He  was  here 
four  weeks  ago  looking  dreadfully  ill ;  since  then 
we  have  heard  nothing,  and  are  afraid  something 
is  wrong." 

Kate  flung  the  note  aside.  Her  slight  frame 
quivered  convulsively. 

"  He  came  out  here  to  see  her  for  the  last  time, 
and  he  never  told  her  —  he  never  told,"  she  cried. 
146 


TEMPTATION 

"  That  was  like  him.  He  loved  her  too  well.  I 
can  tell  her  now.  I  can  hurt  her.  Oh,  how  I 
long  to  hurt  her  !  " 

She  began  to  dress  herself  with  blind  haste. 

"  What  will  she  do  ?  What  will  she  say  ?  I  can 
see  her  looking  at  me  with  those  eyes  of  hers. 
When  I  think  of  him,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  go  mad. 
She  never  cared  for  any  one.  But  why  should  she  ? 
She  had  him.  Perhaps  now,  when  she  hears,  she 
may  give  up  everything  and  go  to  him."  Kate 
paused.  "  If  I  keep  silent  now,  she  may  not  know 
it  for  months ;  no  one  writes  to  her  from  Boston. 
I  can't  do  it  —  I  can't.  It  is  my  turn  now.  I 
have  loved  him  longest,  I  have  loved  him  best.  I 
would  have  given  up  everything  at  any  moment  for 
him.  I  did  n't  need  to  know  he  was  blind  to  know 
that  I  loved  him.  No,  I  can't  do  it.  He  could  n't 
expect  it  of  me  after  all  these  years.  It  is  my  only 
chance  of  being  happy."  Kate  was  crying  with  her 
head  on  the  dressing-table.  "  I  should  have  loved 
him  so  well.  What  must  he  not  be  living  through 
now !  Win  could  make  him  almost  happy  if  she 
would.  If  I  could  only  think  of  him  as  happy  — 
but  not  with  another  woman —  not  that ;  I  could  n't 
bear  that.  Could  he  ever  care  for  me  ?  I  shall 
never  forget  the  scorn  in  his  eyes  that  day.  If  I 
should  tell  Win  now  —  and  she  should  go  to  him 
147 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

—  and  he  should  be  made  happy  through  me  — 
perhaps  he  might  hate  me  less." 

Kate  pinned  on  the  thickest  veil  she  owned  and 
hurried  down  stairs  to  order  a  close  carriage.  "  If 
I  tell  her,  I  shall  deserve  less  contempt  from  him, 
though  he  will  never  know  —  he  will  never  know," 
she  repeated.  "  If  I  tell  her,  I  shall  throw  away 
my  one  chance  of  being  happy  or  good.  What  is 
he  doing?  What  is  he  feeling?  How  he  must 
want  her !  I  know  what  it  is  to  want  a  person 
night  and  day  —  to  want,  and  want,  and  want  till 
you  almost  go  mad.  I  suppose  he  feels  so,  and 
he  is  blind  —  blind !  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  cannot 
think  of  him  so.  He  must  be  happy,  and  if  Win 
can  make  him  so  he  must  have  her.  Oh,  why  was 
I  never  taught  to  pray !  I  will  tell  her.  Perhaps 
then  I  can  forget  the  scorn  in  his  eyes.  Why  was 
I  never  taught  to  pray  ?  " 

The  carriage  stopped. 

Yes,  Mademoiselle  was  chez  elle,  but  Mademoi- 
selle Edith  had  gone  out. 

For  five  maddening  minutes  Kate  waited  in  a 
dark  corner  of  Winifred's  studio,  and  then  Wini- 
fred came  in  to  receive  her  with  polite  indifference. 
Winifred's  cool,  steady  fingers  touched  Kate's  fever- 
ish ones,  and  Winifred's  poise  and  self-possession 
contrasted  oddly  with  Kate's  nervous  tension. 
148 


TEMPTATION 

"  I  hate  her  !  I  hate  her !  I  hate  her !  "  said 
Kate  over  and  over  to  herself. 

"  I  heard  you  were  going  to  Russia,  so  I  came  to 
say  good-by,"  she  remarked  aloud. 

"  Yes,  we  go  in  a  day  or  so.  I  don't  know  when 
we  shall  come  back.  Home  is  as  distant  as 
dreams." 

Winifred's  tone  was  devoid  of  either  elation  or 
doubt.  She  sat  with  the  full  light  on  her  clear, 
colorless  skin,  unwavering  eyes,  and  firm  lips. 

Because  she  was  a  woman,  Kate  longed  to  break 
the  news  to  her ;  because  she  loved  Dan,  she  feared 
to  do  so ;  and  because  she  hated  Winifred,  she 
could  not  part  with  the  superiority  her  knowledge 
gave  her. 

"Have  you  a  satisfactory  engagement?"  she 
asked,  to  save  time. 

"  Financially  it  is." 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them.  Kate's  lips 
moved  to  say,  "  Did  you  know  that  Dan  was  blind?" 
What  she  actually  said  was,  "  I  saw  him — Dan,  I 
mean  — in  Boston  just  before  I  sailed."  Then  she 
waited. 

None  but  the  eyes  of  a  jealous  woman  could  have 
detected  the  change  in  Winifred's  face  ;  but  it  was 
there,  and  Kate  saw  it. 

"  Edith  wrote  me  you  were  anxious  about  him," 
149 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

she  continued,  "  and  I  came  round  to  tell  you  that 
I  had  seen  him." 

"Ah."  Winifred  raised  her  eyebrows.  Her 
serene,  self-absorbed  consciousness  was  unaccount- 
ably antagonized  by  Kate's  manner.  "  It  was  very 
good  of  you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  But  we  had  news 
of  him  the  other  day.  I  am  sorry  you  took  the 
trouble  to  come.  It  is  most  unlikely  that  you 
could  know  anything  we  had  not  already  heard." 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  Wini- 
fred despised  herself  for  the  smallness  of  her  last 
remark,  while  Kate  suffocated  with  anger  and  pain. 
She  rose  suddenly.  "  I  must  go.  Say  good-by 
to  Edith  for  me." 

"  She  will  be  sorry  to  have  missed  you. " 

Both  women  faced  each  other.  Certain  words 
were  crying  aloud  in  Kate's  consciousness,  but  her 
lips  were  silent. 

Winifred  was  sorry  for  her  pettishness.  "  It  was 
good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said  cordially.  "  If  we 
had  n't  had  news  last  week,  we  should  have  been 
eager  to  hear  all  you  knew.  When  you  go  home  — 
which  will  be  long  before  we  do  —  be  sure  and  tell 
Dan  not  to  overwork  himself.  I  am  afraid  he  has 
done  so  lately.  Good-by."  Then  Kate  hated  her 
more  than  ever. 

"  She  despises  me  too  much  to  dislike  me,"  she 
150 


TEMPTATION 

cried,  hurrying  down  stairs.  "She  fears  me  so 
little  that  she  sends  him  messages  through  me. 
How  could  I  do  her  a  good  turn  when  it  meant 
the  end  of  my  only  chance  of  happiness  ?  "  Kate 
cried,  in  short,  gasping  sobs.  "  Is  he  living  in 
a  worse  hell  than  I  ?  Poor  Dan  !  Oh,  my  poor 
Dan  !  I  love  him,  and  I  have  done  him  wrong ! 
Just  as  if  it  mattered  about  her  or  me  —  about  any- 
thing but  his  happiness." 

Madame,  who  sat  in  the  conciergerie,  was  startled 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  beautifully  dressed 
girl  with  a  haggard  face. 

"  Give  me  paper  and  pencil,  quick  —  anything 
will  do,"  said  this  lady;  and  Kate  wrote:  "I 
thought  you  might  care  to  know  that  Dan  went 
blind  two  weeks  ago." 

"  Take  that  to  Mademoiselle  Meredith  at  once. 
Do  you  understand  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oui,  Madame.     I  go  at  once — a  V  instant" 

"  But  you  are  not  going." 

"  I  show  Madame  the  door  first ;  permettez-moi. 
This  is  Madame'sj/ftzcre?  " 

"  Don't  fail  to  let  her  have  it,"  said  Kate  with 
feverish  eagerness,  as  she  pulled  up  the  cab  window. 

"  Madame  may  rely  upon  me.  I  go  to  stop  le 
petit  Jean  from  playing  with  the  fire,  and  within 
four  minutes  Mademoiselle  Meredith  has  the  note." 
151 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

It  happened  that  le  petit  Jean  had  put  the  note 
in  the  fire.  Madame  boxed  his  ears  soundly. 

"  Mon  dieu  —  quel  enfant  1 "  she  sighed,  return- 
ing to  her  knitting.  "  But  it  can  be  of  no  great  im- 
portance. If  it  had  been  from  a  man  "  —  Madame 
shrugged  her  shoulders  significantly. 

A  few  days  later  Kate  returned,  to  find  that 
Winifred  had  gone  to  Russia. 

She  breathed  quickly.  "  What  did  she  do  when 
you  gave  her  my  note  ?  " 

"  Just  this  —  *  Merci.'  "  Madame  gave  an  ad- 
mirable imitation  of  Winifred's  careless  manner. 

"  And  afterwards  —  you  say  she  went  to  Rus- 
sia, not  to  America?  " 

"It  was  Russia,  I  know,  for  she  left  her  ad- 
dress." 

Kate  went  out  with  a  new  look  in  her  eyes.  "  It 
is  my  turn  now,"  she  said.  "  I  sacrificed  myself 
to  save  him ;  she  took  the  best  of  his  life,  and  left 
him  in  his  hour  of  need.  I  can  look  her  in  the  face 
now,  for  I  am  as  worthy  of  him  as  she." 

Winifred  sat  alone  after  Kate's  visit,  wondering 
why  it  had  disturbed  her  so.  She  was  troubled 
about  Dan.  Walter  Garrison  had  written  that  he 
was  well,  and  at  work ;  but  why  had  not  Dan  writ- 
ten himself? 

152 


TEMPTATION 

Von  Eeidnitz  came  that  afternoon  to  coach  her 
for  a  new  opera,  and  Winifred  disliked  him  more 
than  ever. 

"  You  go  to  Russia  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  this  week." 

"  I  have  been  away  a  month,  and  come  back  to 
this  news.  You  never  told  me." 

"  Why  should  1  have  told  you  ?  " 

There  was  an  unpleasant  look  in  the  Austrian's 
eyes.  Here  was  an  unmarried  woman,  who  saw 
him  alone  daily,  and  whose  fingers  he  dared  not 
kiss.  Such  women  as  these,  women  who  met  his 
eyes  without  thought  of  evil,  and  spoke  to  him 
without  restraint,  were  beyond  the  bounds  of  his 
very  questionable  experience.  Winifred  was  fear- 
less ;  her  careless  power  and  splendid  vitality  at- 
tracted him,  while  her  indifference  and  apparent 
coldness  left  him  baffled  and  amazed. 

Something  of  all  this  Winifred  might  have  read 
in  his  eyes,  had  she  cared  to  look  ;  but  though  his 
personality  sometimes  disturbed  her,  she  was  more 
often  unconscious  of  anything  but  his  artistic  pos- 
sibilities. 

She  moved  to  the  piano  now.  "  We  will  go 
through  the  first  act,"  she  said. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  for  music." 

"What  then?" 

153 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"Winifred's  eyes  silenced  him.  When  he  spoke 
again  it  was  on  a  different  subject. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  began,  "  the  last  time  I  came 
here,  I  was  insulted  by  one  of  your  friends." 

"  How  strange !     Who  was  it  ?  " 

"  Your  American.     I  know  not  his  name." 

Winifred  tried  not  to  smile.  "  Oh,  why  did  n't 
I  hear  it !  "  she  thought.  "  What  did  he  say  to 
you  ?  "  she  asked  aloud. 

"  Let  it  suffice  to  know  that  he  insulted  me  for 
the  second  time.  I  regret  to  tell  you  that  he  is  a 
coward." 

"  A  coward !  "    Winifred  laughed. 

"  You  laugh ;  you  think  it  a  small  thing  to  be 
a  coward." 

She  had  never  angered  him  more  than  at  this 
minute. 

"  I  offered  him  honorable  redress,"  he  continued. 

"  You  challenged  him  —  how  absurd  !  "  She 
laughed  again.  "  It  is  like  something  on  the  stage. 
What  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  He  refused." 

"  Of  course.     I  suppose  he  laughed  at  you  ?  " 

"  Americans  laugh  in  strange  places.  I  am,  un- 
fortunately, unable  to  share  your  merriment.  He 
is  a  coward." 

This  time  Winifred  flushed.  "  Coward  is  not  a 
154 


TEMPTATION 

nice  word,"  she  said  slowly,  "  and  I  think  you  have 
said  it  too  often,  Herr  von  Reidnitz.  From  this 
day  you  will  consider  these  lessons  at  an  end." 

Herr  von  Reidnitz  rose  and  bowed.  "  I  hope 
the  Fraulein  will  some  day  see  fit  to  pardon." 

"  I  do  not  pardon  easily."  Winifred  spoke 
haughtily.  She  was  unaccountably  indignant,  and 
felt  that  such  musical  criticism  as  he  could  give  her 
would  be  too  dearly  bought. 

Von  Reidnitz  hurried  down  stairs.  "  Ach,  these 
Americans  ! "  he  muttered.  "  The  women  you 
think  are  free  till  you  find  they  are  only  fearless  ! 
The  men  who  laugh  at  the  word  a  Frenchman 
would  shoot  you  for !  This  girl  is  splendid,  dar- 
ing, charming,  amazing,  all  at  once.  I  was  a  fool 
to  offend  her  for  some  day  it  would  have  been 
worth  while  to  make  her  afraid." 

It  was  among  such  men  as  these  that  Winifred 
passed  with  her  serene  pride  untouched.  Von 
Reidnitz  had  not  reached  the  street  before  she 
had  forgotten  him,  and  his  kind ;  but  she  sat  long 
by  the  empty  grate,  thinking  ;  and  once  she  spoke 
to  herself  aloud. 

"  It  is  unkind  of  him  not  to  write,"  she  said. 
155 


Chapter  XII 

ON  THE  WAY 

IT  was  a  year  later,  and  Winifred  was  coming 
home. 

"  The  captain  says  we  shall  be  over  the  bar  by 
ten  o'clock  to-morrow,"  announced  Edith. 

She  was  arranging  her  hair  before  an  infinitesi- 
mal mirror,  and  Winifred  sat  on  the  sofa  looking 
out  of  the  port-hole.  The  year  had  changed  her, 
—  taken  something  from  her  radiant  confidence, 
drawn  a  tiny  line  between  her  brows,  and  brought 
a  curious  compression  to  the  corners  of  her  lips. 
Disappointment  had  not  discouraged,  but  neither 
had  it  softened  her.  Her  moments  of  silence  were 
longer,  her  moments  of  expansion  rarer,  than  when 
she  went  to  Kussia.  She  did  not  answer  Edith's 
remark  ;  but  as  Edith  had  said,  "  One  would  talk 
so  very  little  if  one  talked  only  when  sure  of  being 
answered  by  Win." 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  be  in  New  York  by  mid- 
day," Edith  continued.  "  When  we  left  home  five 
years  ago  we  could  not  have  afforded  a  stateroom 
156 


ON  THE  WAY 

like  this.  You  must  at  least  be  pleased  by  the 
money  you  have  been  able  to  make." 

"  Yes,"  said  Winifred.  "  It  helps  while  waiting 
for  the  real  thing." 

"  Perhaps  the  '  real  thing '  will  come  this  win- 
ter." 

"  If  I  have  a  chance  to  sing." 

"  The  impresario  promised  it  to  you." 

"  What  is  an  impresario's  promise  ?  " 

"Not  golden,  certainly."  Edith  had  finished, 
and  sat  watching  Winifred's  profile  in  the  light 
that  streamed  through  the  port-hole. 

"Win." 

"  Yes." 

"  When  you  have  the  real  thing,  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  shall  enjoy  it." 

"  Will  you  ?  Sometimes  I  think  you  will  not  — 
for  long." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  am  doing  it  for  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  doing  it.  Have  you  ever  no- 
ticed that  admiration  is  the  thing  you  tire  of  most 
easily  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  for  admiration,  it 's  for  power." 

If  Edith  had  no  intellect,  she  possessed  its  best 
substitute  —  practical  intuition. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  exactly,  by  power  ?  "  she 


157 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Winifred  evaded  the  question.  "It  is  better 
than  anything  else  life  can  give  me,"  she  said. 

"It  would  be  the  least  life  could  give  me  — 
power  of  that  kind,  I  mean." 

Edith  still  looked  at  the  dark,  irregular  profile ; 
a  shadow  she  was  learning  to  recognize  brooded  in 
Winifred's  eyes. 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  confess  something  to 
me,  now  that  we  are  talking  frankly  ? "  began 
Edith. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Have  n't  you  been  disappointed  in  Dan  ?  " 

"  No."  The  answer  came  quickly,  and  then  the 
shadow  deepened  in  Winifred's  eyes. 

"  He  has  never  answered  your  letters,  nor  sent 
an  explanation." 

"Dan  would  never  need  to  explain  to  me." 

"  How  do  you  explain  ?  " 

"  I  don't  explain,  only  I  know  that  whatever 
Dan  does  is  well  done." 

"  It  is  not  like  you  to  believe  in  people  so." 

"  Other  '  people '  are  not  Dan." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  see  him,  now  that  we  are  at 
home  again  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  as  he  chooses." 

Edith  puckered  her  brows.  "  I  did  n't  think 
Dan  would  give  up  like  that,"  she  complained. 
158 


ON  THE  WAY 

"  It  destroys  all  one's  ideas  of  fidelity.     I  don't 
know  whom  to  believe  in  now." 

"  I  believe  in  him  as  I  always  have,  as  I  always 
shall.  If  he  decided  we  had  better  be  separated, 
he  decided  it  as  much  for  me  as  for  himself.  I 
wouldn't  need  letters  to  tell  me  that:  he  knows 
that  I  know." 

Winifred  rose.  She  had  spoken  with  a  ring  of 
proud  confidence  in  her  voice. 

"  Where  are  you  going? "  asked  Edith. 

"  Out,"  said  Winifred. 

As  she  passed  along  the  deck,  some  men  who 
stood  in  the  smoking-room  door  commented  upon 
her. 

"  Can  you  imagine  those  lips  tremulous  ?  "  said 
one  of  them.  "  The  mouth  shows  what  you  are, 
the  eyes  what  you  might  have  been.  Have  you 
ever  noticed  her  eyes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  mysterious  at  times.  Then  again 
they  have  the  frank,  unspoiled  gaze  of  a  child.  I 
wonder  how  long  they  will  keep  it." 

"  What  does  a  woman  with  those  eyes  want  of 
artificial  lights,  empty  praises,  and  the  drudgery  of 
stage  life?  "  said  the  first  speaker  impatiently. 

An  old  man  who  smoked  a  little  apart  looked  up 
suddenly.     "  I  understand  she  has  not  made  any 
striking  success,"  he  said. 
-159 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  ROAD 

**I  believe  not.  That  makes  it  all  the  more 
astonishing." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

There  was  a  little  pause  and  then  a  comprehen- 
sive look. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Rivers  has  hit  the  right  nail," 
said  one  of  the  men.  "  You  're  old-fashioned, 
Meriman.  You  can't  stop  the  modern  woman  from 
doing." 

"  She  would  accomplish  so  much  more  if  she 
would  satisfy  herself  with  being,"  growled  Meri- 
man. "  Take  the  sister." 

"  The  sister 's  a  dear  little  girl,  no  one  denies 
that ;  but  who  can  think  of  her  when  the  other  one 
is  about  ?  " 

Winifred,  unconscious  of  and  indifferent  to  in- 
terested eyes,  had  flung  herself  down  on  a  coil  of 
rope  in  the  bow  of  the  steamer.  The  wild,  salt 
wind  blew  cold  in  her  face,  and  the  waste  of  flowing 
waters  suggested  infinite  things. 

"  Dan  would  have  liked  this."  She  sat  long, 
and  her  eyes  deepened  and  darkened.  One  of 
those  moments  when  no  self-deceit  is  possible  had 
come  to  her.  In  this  lonely  sublimity  of  sky  and 
sea  she  could  not  seem  other  than  she  was.  She 
knew  that  she  should  always  hold  out  empty  hands 
160 


ON  THE  WAY 

to  life,  though  the  flattery,  the  wealth,  the  power  of 
the  world  were  hers.  She  knew  that  she  should  be 
alone,  though  she  lived  and  talked  with  men  and 
women.  Other  women  were  happy,  in  friends,  or 
lovers,  or  work,  and  Dan  had  spoken  to  her  of  what 
could  make  her  happy,  but  she  had  never  been  able 
to  love  Dan  as  other  women  would  have  done.  She 
had  not  loved  him ;  but  had  always  known  that 
there  could  never  be  other  man,  other  friend,  other 
lover  in  her  life  than  he.  Some  day  she  wanted 
him  to  know  this,  because  in  after  years,  when  he 
ceased  to  love  her,  he  might  blame  her  for  taking 
so  much  and  giving  so  little ;  and  this  had  been 
her  only  excuse,  this  knowledge  of  hers  that  if  it 
could  not  be  he  it  would  be  no  one.  Now  he  had 
gone  out  of  her  life,  and  none  could  take  his  place. 
It  was  best  so ;  he  would  be  happier  in  the  end. 
For  herself  there  would  never  be  anything  but  her 
career,  even  though  it  left  her  with  empty  hands 
at  the  last. 

But  this  was  not  what  she  had  expected  of  life. 
It  had  looked  so  simple  and  joyous,  on  that  June 
day  five  years  ago  when  Dan  had  found  her  sing- 
ing in  the  poppy  garden.  And  now  —  she  asked 
herself  with  startled  wonder  if  she  were  not  going 
to  be  an  unhappy  woman;  but  that  was  absurd, 
when  one  had  youth,  and  health,  and  talent  such 
161 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

as  hers.  No,  unhappiness  was  not  the  word ;  not 
for  an  instant  would  she  acknowledge  unhappiness 
—  only  nothing  was  very  much  worth  while,  and 
she  was  lonely,  and  she  must  be  lonely  all  her  life. 

This  was  not  her  first  moment  of  awakening,  and 
she  met  it  as  she  had  met  others.  She  rose  and 
smiled  a  challenging  smile  straight  into  the  heart 
of  the  setting  sun.  Life  should  give  her  what  she 
chose,  what  would  make  it  abundantly  worth  living. 
It  was  weak  to  consider  unhappiness  because  the 
day  was  dying;  it  was  morbid  to  fear  loneliness 
because  she  was  alone  with  the  sky  and  sea. 

She  turned  from  the  solitude  to  lighted  cabins 
and  the  sound  of  chattering  voices.  Edith  had 
been  hunting  for  her. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  concert  to-night  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  You  promised  to  rehearse,  and  then  you 


"  I  was  in  the  bow  ;   any  one  might  have  found 
me." 

"  Who  would  have  thought  of  finding  you  in 
that  windy  spot !     It  was  very  imprudent  of  you." 

"Winifred  clasped   her  hands  behind  her  head, 
and  laughed  a  low,  defiant  laugh. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  she  said.     "  Sometimes  I  dare 
not  to  care,  and  it  is  so  nice." 

"  Which  —  daring,  or  not  caring  ?  " 
162 


ON  THE  WAY 

"Both." 

"  How  queer  you  are,  Win !  You  are  perfectly 
capable  of  spoiling  the  climax  of  your  career  by 
one  of  these  crazy  moods." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  am  not  going  to  spoil  to-night. 
I  am  going  to  sing  well.  Wait." 

A  reaction  had  set  in.  Winifred's  mood  was 
reckless,  confident,  brilliant.  She  talked  gayly  as 
she  dressed  for  the  concert. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  though  a  great  operatic 
success  must  be  a  great  thing,  it  might  be  just  as 
good  to  be  a  red  cross  nurse  on  a  post  of  danger  in 
war  time." 

Edith  sat  on  her  berth  and  shivered.  "  I  should  n't 
mind  being  a  nurse,  but  I  should  hate  a  post  of 
danger,"  she  said. 

"  The  danger  is  what  I  should  like,  danger  and 
a  laugh  in  the  teeth  of  it.  It  must  be  glorious. 
Only,"  she  added  reflectively  —  "  only  I  probably 
should  n't  laugh,  I  should  run  away." 

Edith  sighed. 

"  Win,  dear,  sometimes  I  fear  you  are  not  at  all 
the  person  for  an  opera  singer." 

Winifred  laughed.  "  Wait  till  you  hear  me  to- 
night," she  said. 

"  Nobody  will  hear  you  if  you  keep  on  talking  so 
much.     There  won't  be  a  note  left  in  your  voice." 
163 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  laughing  again,  and  stood  be- 
fore  the  mirror  with  careless  amusement.  "  I  am 
glad  I  have  n't  beauty,"  she  continued.  "  It  is  so 
much  more  triumphant  to  be  able  to  do  without  it. 
I  am  going  to  take  the  geranium  the  captain  gave 
you  to-day,  Edith.  A  red  geranium  is  the  only 
flower  I  don't  like,  it  is  so  aggressive  and  blatant ; 
but  to-night  I  want  it.  I  shall  wear  it  in  my  hair 
-like  this." 

The  effect  was  daring,  and  seemed  part  of  what 
Edith  called  "  one  of  Win's  invincible  moods." 

In  the  saloon,  Winifred,  with  her  black  hair  aud 
dress  and  her  scarlet  flower,  created  a  sensation  of 
which  she  was  serenely  conscious. 

"  What  is  she,  an  American,  or  a  duchess,  or 
both?"  asked  a  passenger  who  appeared  for  the 
first  time. 

"  An  American,  and  an  opera  singer." 

"  Good  heavens  —  an  opera  singer,  you  say  ?  " 
A  pair  of  lorgnettes  went  up.  "  But  she  is  a  lady." 

"Undoubtedly." 

"  Then  how  can  she  "  — 

"  She  is  so  far  above  the  dirt  of  the  stage  that 
she  does  n't  see  it." 

"  Ah.   How  long  do  you  suppose  that  will  last  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  She  looks  rather  incorruptible, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

164 


ON  THE  WAY 

Winifred  sat  down  near  the  door  in  a  seat  that 
old  Mr.  Rivers  had  found  for  her. 

"  You  look  well,  my  child,"  he  said. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  a  child?  "  asked  Winifred. 
'*  Do  you  know  that  I  am  twenty-six  ?  " 

"  That  is  young  enough  to  be  a  child  to  me." 

She  smiled.  "  I  am  glad  the  parentage  exists 
only  in  years.  You  would  n't  have  let  me  go  on 
the  stage." 

"  You  are  right ;  I  should  not." 

"  You  could  n't  have  helped  it,"  she  said  with 
mischievous  defiance. 

"  Possibly  not." 

Edith  came  to  say  that  the  concert  was  about  to 
begin  ;  but  Winifred  announced  her  intention  of 
staying  where  she  was  for  the  present. 

"  They  make  such  dreadful  music,"  she  explained. 
"  Are  you  going  ?  "  she  asked  of  Mr.  Rivers. 

"  No,  I  am  not  fond  of  music  as  a  rule.  I  shall 
go  to  hear  you  sing,  however." 

She  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and  with 
chin  in  hands  looked  at  him  for  a  short  time  in 
silence. 

"I  think  you  will  be  disappointed,"  she  said 
finally. 

"  That  depends  upon  what  I  expect." 

"  Don't  you  expect  me  to  sing  well  ?  "  She 
165 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

looked  surprised.     "  People  always  expect  more  of 
me  than  they  find." 

"  That  is  on  account  of  your  confident  air,  Win," 
said  Edith,  who  had  also  seated  herself. 

"  Don't  you  expect  me  to  sing  well  ?  "  persisted 
Winifred  ingenuously. 

«  Well  —  yes  ;  not  greatly." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  are  still  a  child." 

"That  is  the  old  story,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"  Besides,  it  is  n't  altogether  true."  She  thought 
of  that  sunset  hour  when  she  had  been  alone  with 
the  sky  and  sea.  Looking  out  of  the  open  door, 
she  could  see  the  deck  slope  into  the  night,  and  a 
solemn  path  of  moonlight  on  the  water. 

"  There  are  far  better  things  for  you  than  oper- 
atic success,"  said  the  old  man.  He  spoke  in 
undertones,  for  the  concert  had  begun.  "You 
worship  power  without  understanding  the  deepest 
meaning  of  the  word."  He  drummed  on  the  table 
with  his  fingers  and  looked  at  her  reflectively.  "  I 
should  like  you  to  know  a  particular  friend  of 
mine,"  he  said. 

"  Why  ?     What  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  Is  n't  it  quite  as  important  to  ask  what  he  is  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  is  he,  then  ?  "     She  smiled. 

"  Several  things.     Incidentally  he  is  blind." 
166 


ON  THE  WAY 

"  Ah,  how  can  blindness  be  an  incident  ?  " 

"  He  makes  it  one.  I  think  you  would  like 
him." 

"  Would  he  like  me  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered,  smiling  also. 
Then  he  continued  seriously  :  — 

"  He  went  blind  in  the  middle  of  his  own  speech." 

"  You  don't  mean  he  finished  it  ?  " 

"  He  finished  it." 

Winifred  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  How  could  he  do  it  ?  How  could  he  ?  "  cried 
Edith. 

"  It  would  make  life  worth  living  just  to  have 
done  a  thing  like  that,"  said  Winifred  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Which  remark  proves  what  I  say  about  your 
inexperience,"  Mr.  Rivers  answered.  "You  are 
struck  by  the  act,  not  by  the  pain." 

"  What  has  he  done  since  then  ?  " 

"  He  has  made  himself  one  of  the  most  promi- 
nent lawyers  in  the  state.  Just  before  I  left  Eu- 
rope I  heard  of  his  having  won  the  biggest  law 
case  that  has  appeared  in  the  courts  for  some  years." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  ever  meet  him,"  Winifred 
said  slowly. 

"  How  terrible  it  must  be  to  be  blind !     I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  it,"  whispered  Edith. 
167 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Why  do  you  think  of  it,  then  ?  "  Winifred 
gave  herself  a  mental  shake.  "  Why  do  you  think 
of  it  ?  There  are  so  many  pleasant  things  in  the 
world.  My  sister  is  so  foolish,"  she  explained  with 
a  smile.  "  She  is  a  great  deal  softer  hearted  than 
I  am,  yet  she  continually  dwells  on  unfortunates. 
If  I  felt  as  badly  as  she  does,  I  would  never  look 
at  one  or  speak  of  one,  unless,  of  course,  I  could 
do  some  good,  and  then  I  suppose  I  should  feel 
obliged —  As  it  is,  unhappy  people  do  not  want 
me  any  more  than  I  want  them."  She  spoke 
lightly,  with  graceful  defiance. 

"  That  is  why  you  don't  sing  better,"  said  Mr. 
Rivers  gravely. 

But  Winifred  would  not  be  grave.  A  mischiev- 
ous devil  laughed  in  her  eyes.  She  drew  a  pro- 
gramme towards  her  and  wrote  rapidly  on  the 
back. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  inquired  Edith  curi- 
ously. 

"  Beginning  a  new  musical  education.  It  seems 
necessary  that  I  should  enlarge  my  bump  of  com- 
passion. How  is  this  ?  "  She  read  from  her  pro- 
gramme. " '  Wanted.  A  lady  desires  to  adopt 
poor  boy  or  girl,  cripple  preferred.'  I  shall  put  it 
in  the  New  York  Herald  the  moment  we  land." 
Then  she  laughed  and  tore  the  paper  in  two.  "  No, 
168 


ON  THE  WAY 

I  don't  like  unfortunates.     I  leave  them  to  Edith. 
Happiness  and  success  are  my  chosen  friends." 

"  How  Dan  would  have  hated  to  hear  you  talk 
so,"  said  Edith  reproachfully. 

"  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Rivers  could  tell  us  anything 
of  him,"  said  Winifred,  laughing  no  longer. 

"Who?    Dan?" 

"  Yes."  She  looked  up.  "  You  are  a  lawyer 
and  come  from  Massachusetts ;  do  you  know  an  old 
friend  "  — 

A  strange  voice  interrupted  her. 

"  Miss  Meredith,  it  is  your  turn  to  sing." 

She  consulted  the  programme.  "  There  is  one 
more  number  first.  I  will  go  after  that.  I  want 
to  ask  a  question." 

"  Very  well,  don't  ask  it  too  loud.  Mrs.  Bart- 
lett's  voice  is  easily  extinguished." 

She  continued  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Do  you  know  a  Mr.  Howard,  a  lawyer  of  the 
Massachusetts  bar?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  the  name  of  the  man  I  was  telling 
you  of  ;  could  n't  it  be  "  — 

"  Of  course  not.  Dan  blind  !  What  an  idea. 
Don't  you  know  more  than  one  Howard  ?  " 

"I  know  only  one  of  the  Massachusetts  bar. 
How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen  your  friend  ? 
Are  you  sure  "  — 

169 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Of  course  I  am.  How  persistent  you  lawyers 
are.  Why,  Dan  is  n't  any  more  blind  than  you  are  ! 
Perhaps  you  will  recognize  his  full  name.  Daniel 
Maitland  Howard.  Your  friend  is  probably  some 
Jim  Howard,  or  Jack  Howard." 

Mr.  Rivers  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  He  is  Daniel  Maitland  Howard,"  was  the 
answer. 

Edith  gave  a  little  cry. 

Winifred  was  leaning  forward  on  the  table.  She 
did  not  stir  or  speak,  but  the  color  went  drop  by 
drop  from  her  face  till  Mr.  Rivers  was  frightened. 

"  Miss  Meredith,  it  is  your  turn  to  sing." 

She  rose  mechanically. 

Edith  was  crying. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  commanded  Winifred  fiercely. 
« It  is  n't  Dan  —  it  can't  be  Dan." 

Two  of  the  men  who  had  discussed  Winifred  in 
the  afternoon  watched  her  entrance  now. 

"  Look  at  Miss  Meredith,"  said  Meriman  quickly. 
"  Good  heavens  !  what 's  wrong?  Is  it  the  electric 
light,  or  the  scarlet  flower  ?  " 

"  By  Jove!  "  exclaimed  the  other,  putting  on  his 
glasses,  "  what  a  change !  It 's  neither  light  nor 
flower.  Look  at  her  lips.  I  '11  wager  she  does  n't 
sing." 

Winifred  faced  a  hundred  eyes.  The  pallor  of 
170 


ON  THE  WAY 

her  face  was  startling  beside  the  black  dress  and 
the  cruel  red  of  a  scarlet  geranium. 

"  Is  she  going  to  faint?  Is  she  stage-struck?" 
whispered  some  one. 

"  Stage-struck  —  that  woman  ?  Nonsense  I  I 
did  n't  know  she  was  so  tall,  did  you  ?  " 

Edith  played  the  opening  bars  of  the  accompa- 
niment, but  Winifred  made  no  sound.  She  played 
them  again,  and  Winifred  caught  her  throat. 

"  I  can't,"  she  whispered.  "  I  can't  breathe. 
It  may  be  Dan." 

171 


Chapter  XIII 

HOME 

ME.  EIVEES  awaited  Winifred's  return.   He 
had  known  she  would  not  sing. 

"  I  wonder  if  Dan  Howard  knows  —  or  cares," 
he  asked  himself. 

Very  soon  Winifred  stood  before  him  with 
fiercely  questioning  eyes. 

"  I  must  know  if  it  is  Dan,"  she  said. 

"  We  will  telegraph  Mr.  Garrison  to-morrow." 
Edith  spoke  soothingly. 

"  I  must  know  to-night." 

Mr.  Eivers  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  addressed 
himself  to  Edith.  "  Walter  Garrison  is  Howard's 
most  intimate  friend,"  he  said.  "  They  lived  to- 
gether for  years  on  Beacon  Hill." 

"  Then  it  is  our  Dan."  Edith  gave  a  little  sob. 
"  Poor  Dan,  how  dreadful !  "  Winifred  said  no- 
thing. She  was  strangely  still  and  white  and 
breathless. 

Looking  at  her,  Mr.  Eivers  asked  himself  what 
part  this  woman  played  in  Daniel  Howard's  life. 
172 


HOME 

"  I  did  not  know  he  was  such  an  old  friend  of 
yours,  or  I  should  have  broken  the  news  less  bru- 
tally." He  continued  to  address  Edith.  "Mr. 
Howard  lost  his  eyesight  about  two  years  ago,  but 
since  then  he  has  won  more  admiration  than  pity. 
I  don't  think  his  friends  should  grieve  for  him  over- 
much." 

"  He  might  have  told  us,"  said  Edith.  And 
then  some  men  came  up  to  ask  if  Winifred  was 
feeling  better,  and  if  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
for  her. 

Winifred  was  not  feeling  better,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done. 

"  It  is  only  a  little  faintness,"  Edith  assured 
them.  She  longed  to  go  away  and  cry ;  but  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  leave  Winifred  looking  like 
this.  She  had  never  looked  so  before,  and  Edith 
was  startled.  Why  did  n't  Win  speak,  or  move, 
or  cry  ?  This  stillness  of  hers  made  every  one  un- 
comfortable. 

The  men  lingered.  "  I  heard  you  speaking  of 
Dan  Howard  just  now,"  said  one  of  them.  "  Did 
you  know  he  had  won  his  great  case  ?  " 

Mr.  Rivers  nodded  assent. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  an  eye-witness  just  before 
I  sailed,"  continued  the  speaker.  "  It  must  have 
been  worth  seeing  and  hearing.  They  say  there 
173 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

was  n't  a  dry  eye  in  the  court.  Howard  has  an  odd 
power  of  moving  people  when  he  chooses.  I  sup- 
pose his  personal  experience  helps  somewhat.  You 
always  feel  the  man  must  have  suffered  hideously." 

Mr.  Rivers  rose  and  turned  out  the  light  that 
shone  on  Winifred's  face. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  're  speaking  of  the  Dan  How- 
ard I  knew  in  college,"  said  another  man.  "  He 
was  in  my  class  of  '84." 

"  I  think  that 's  the  one  —  a  tall,  loosely  hung 
fellow  with  a  face  you  might  n't  like,  but  could  n't 
forget." 

"  Yes  —  and  over  fond  of  his  own  way.  It  must 
be  the  same.  And  he 's  gone  blind  ?  That  boy  ! 
He  used  to  play  half-back  on  the  'Varsity  eleven. 
He  was  the  roughest  player  on  the  team,  and  now 
he's  blind.  Good  heavens!  Poor  old  Howard! 
What  does  it  make  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  one  of  the  men  who  are  always  bigger 
than  the  occasion." 

"  He  used  to  be  when  he  played  football,  but 
what  can  a  man  do  when  he  can't  see  to  keep  out 
of  the  gutter?" 

"  Wait  till  you  meet  him.  It  is  rather  odd,  the 
impression  he  gives  of  being  a  larger  force  than 
you,  even  while  you  lend  him  the  guidance  of  your 
hand." 

174 


HOME 

"  I  wonder  why  he  did  n't  shoot  himself  before 
it  came  to  that,"  said  Dan's  old  classmate  reflec- 
tively, as  he  passed  out  to  the  moonlit  deck. 

"When  you  see  him,  perhaps  you  will  under- 
stand." 

"  I  don't  know.     I  suppose  he  is  changed." 

"  I  doubt  if  you  would  know  him." 

The  voices  were  lost  in  the  distance. 

"  Come  to  bed,  Win,"  said  Edith. 

Mr.  Rivers  put  his  hand  over  hers.  "  My  child." 
He  spoke  with  grave  tenderness. 

Winifred  shivered,  and  rising,  she  went  out 
alone  into  the  night. 

The  next  day  she  stood  opposite  Walter  Gar- 
rison in  the  private  parlor  of  a  Fifth  Avenue 
hotel. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  was  saying  slowly. 
"You  were  his  friend,  and  you  left  him." 

She  spoke  with  pale  lips,  and  her  face  was  with- 
out color  or  life. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  I  should  like  to  explain," 
said  Walter. 

"  It  can  hardly  be  worth  while,"  she  answered 
wearily. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Meredith,  it  is  worth  while." 

Walter  was  not  angry;  he  knew  too  well  the 
175 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

loyalty  of  his  own  heart  and  actions,  but  he  had 
certain  things  to  say  and  he  meant  to  say  them. 

She  listened  to  him  on  sufferance,  with  a 
strangely  still  face  and  inscrutable  eyes. 

"  Dan  got  me  the  position  himself,"  continued 
Walter  in  his  slow,  gentle  way,  "  because  he  knew 
it  would  help  me  to  earn  a  living,  and  give  me  a 
chance  of  winning  the  woman  I  love.  I  would 
have  given  up  that  chance  —  for  Dan,  but  I  could 
not  force  the  sacrifice  upon  him.  To  accept  from 
others  seemed  the  one  intolerable  thing  "  —  Here 
Walter  broke  off  suddenly.  "  You  know  Dan," 
he  added  in  a  lower  tone.  "  It  was  for  his  own 
sake  that  I  left  him." 

An  almost  imperceptible  tremor  passed  over  the 
stillness  of  her  face,  and  he  saw  that  she  under- 
stood. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

Walter  became  suddenly  ill  at  ease.  "He  is 
taking  a  vacation  at  Lilton,"  he  said. 

"  At  Lilton?  "  It  was  the  home  of  Winifred's 
childhood. 

"  I  think  he  is  staying  with  your  aunt,"  he 
added. 

Winifred  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  — 

"  Telegraph  her  that  I  shall  be  at  Lilton  to-mor- 
row," she  said. 

176 


HOME 

Edith  entered  the  room  in  time  to  hear  the  last 
remark. 

"  Why,  Win,  you  are  crazy,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  can't  leave  New  York  now ;  there  are  con- 
tracts to  sign,  and  fifty  things  to  be  done  about 
your  debut." 

Walter  had  taken  out  his  note-book.  "  What 
train  shall  I  tell  her  to  meet  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 
He  was  smiling  under  his  beard. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  go  to  Lilton,  of  all 
places  ?  "  said  Edith. 

"  Dan  is  there,"  answered  Winifred. 
177 


Chapter  XIY 

THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

DAN  was  blind,  and  though  Winifred  stood  be- 
fore his  face  for  a  thousand  years,  he  would 
never  look  into  her  eyes  again.  The  journey  was 
an  agony  of  weariness  and  impatience  —  Dan  was 
waiting. 

At  last  she  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  little 
country  station ;  but  there  was  no  one  to  meet  her. 
The  station-master  regarded  her  with  suspicion  as 
he  locked  the  ticket  office,  and  when  she  asked  for 
a  carriage  to  drive  to  Mrs.  Sumner's  place,  suspi- 
cion changed  to  contempt. 

"  I  guess  you  be  a  stranger  in  these  parts,"  he 
said.  "Mrs.  Sumner's  place  went  in  the  crash 
when  old  Meredith  died ;  she  has  been  living  on 
Mr.  Howard's  estate  ever  since." 

"  Mr.  Howard's  estate  ! "  repeated  Winifred. 

"  Why,  yes ;  Mr.  Howard  bought  the  Meredith 

estate  soon  after  the  old  man  died,  five  years  ago. 

If  you  be  going  that  way,  you  might  as  well  take 

along  this  telegram  which  came  for  Mrs.  Sumner 

178 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

yesterday  noon."  He  thrust  a  bit  of  yellow  paper 
into  her  hand ;  it  was  her  own  telegram.  She 
looked  at  it  dully.  So  after  all  she  was  not  ex- 
pected, and  it  was  Dan  who  had  bought  her  place  ; 
it  was  owing  to  him  that  she  had  been  cleared  of 
debt,  owing  to  him  that  she  had  been  able  to  go 
abroad  and  gratify  her  heart's  desire. 

"  Be  you  feeling  bad  ?  "  asked  the  man,  struck 
by  her  pallor,  and  partially  mollified  by  the  impor- 
tance of  giving  information.  "  If  you  don't  feel 
like  walking,  I  can  hitch  up  and  take  you  over  to 
Mr.  Howard's  place  's  well 's  not." 

"  I  will  walk,"  she  told  him. 

The  way  was  the  old  familiar  one  of  her  child- 
hood ;  but  memory  was  blotted  out  by  the  thought 
that  she  was  near  Dan  again.  Only  once  she 
stopped  to  lean  against  a  huge  oak,  for  it  was  here 
that  he  had  first  told  her  of  his  love.  She  remem- 
bered well  a  sense  of  rebellion  at  his  calm  assump- 
tion of  mastery.  "  What  makes  you  so  sure  of 
winning  me?"  she  had  asked  him.  "The  strength 
of  my  need  of  you,"  he  had  answered.  In  those 
days  she  had  wondered  that  any  one  person  should 
need  another. 

She  was  then  a  girl  of  fifteen,  ambitious,  happy, 
and  confident.  She  stood  to-day  a  woman  in  the 
prime  of  her  youth,  in  the  pride  of  her  success,  but 
179 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

her  lips  were  pale  with  the  strangeness  and  bitter- 
ness of  pain.  Of  what  she  would  say  to  Dan  and 
of  why  she  went  to  him,  she  did  not  pause  to  think. 
He  was  in  trouble,  and  she  must  be  with  him ;  that 
was  all. 

With  dim  eyes  she  walked  up  the  well-remem- 
bered avenue,  and  stood  by  the  gate  where  Dan  had 
leaned  one  springtime  many  years  ago,  watching 
her  as  she  sang. 

A  sunbonnet  bobbed  among  the  withered  flowers 
now,  and  under  it  the  pale,  worn  little  face  of  her 
aunt  looked  up  with  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"Winnie,  my  dear,  is  it  you?  I  thought  you 
were  thousands  of  miles  away.  I  was  asking  Dan 
only  the  other  day  whether  "  — 

"Dan  is  still  here?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  poor  fellow.  You  must  n't  be  shocked 
to  find  him  changed." 

Winifred  had  a  sense  of  suffocation. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Don't  see  him  yet,  dearie.  You  look  ill.  Per- 
haps the  sun  was  too  "  — 

"  Where  is  Dan  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  on  the  back  piazza,  but "  — 

Winifred  swept  by  her  aunt  without  a  word. 
Swiftly  she  passed  up  the  steps,  through  the  long 
180 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

hall,  and  to  the  veranda  beyond,  where  Dan  sat 
alone.  Swiftly  she  went  to  him  with  a  low  cry. 

"Dan!  Dan!" 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Winifred  !  "  was  all  he 
said,  and  he  put  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Oh,  Dan,  what  can  I  say  to  you  ?  What  can 
I  say?" 

He  could  not  speak,  for  the  sudden  touch  and 
sound  of  her  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

She  saw  that  the  face  above  hers  was  lined  and 
seamed ;  her  breath  came  broken  with  sobs. 

"  You  never  told  me  —  you  never  told,  you  let 
me  find  it  out  from  a  stranger.  When  I  heard  — 
I  thought  my  heart  would  break."  She  quivered, 
and  clung  to  the  hands  that  held  hers. 

"  Dan,  Dan,"  she  cried  again,  and  then  because 
of  her  weakness  he  found  his  strength. 

He  put  her  gently  but  firmly  from  him. 

"You  mustn't  mind  so  much,  Win,"  he  said. 
"  You  '11  get  used  to  it  after  a  little,  though  it 's 
puzzling  at  first,  I  admit.  Won't  you  sit  down  ? 
There  must  be  a  chair  round  here  somewhere. 
Why  did  n't  you  let  me  know  you  were  coming  ? 
You  startled  me." 

For  his  sake  she  tried  to  steady  her  voice ;  but 
it  was  hard  to  breathe  while  standing  before  Dan's 
181 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  KOAD 

sightless  eyes,  and  an  attempt  to  tell  him  of  the 
telegram  ended  in  terrible,  convulsive  sobbing. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it  —  I  cannot.  Dan,  you  are 
strong  —  tell  me  how  to  bear  it ;  I  cannot  bear  it 
—  alone." 

The  utter  abandonment  of  her  grief,  the  strength 
and  violence  of  it  startled  him,  and  passion  was 
forgotten  in  tenderness.  He  made  his  way  to 
her. 

"  Dear  child,  I  cannot  have  you  so  troubled  about 
me,"  he  said. 

She  clung  to  his  hand.  "  There  must  be  some 
hope,"  she  cried.  "  There  must  be  some  help  in 
the  world  —  somewhere  ;  did  you  try  to  find  it  ? 
Dan,  it  is  breaking  my  heart;  tell  me  there  is 
hope." 

"  Would  it  have  been  like  me  to  give  in  without 
a  struggle  ?  "  he  said  quietly. 

Her  wild  passion  of  weeping  frightened  him. 
He  bent  over  her,  and  putting  his  hand  on  her 
bowed  head,  spoke  with  grave  command. 

"  Win,"  he  called,  "  Win."  She  seemed  com- 
forted  by  the  touch  of  his  hand  on  her  hair. 

"  Win,  you  must  stop,"  he  said  in  his  deep  voice. 

Then  as  her  sobbing  grew  quieter  he  went  on,  "  I 

cannot  tell  you  what  your  sympathy  is  to  me;  I 

will  not  try.     You  have  given  proof  of  your  deep, 

182 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

tender  heart,  and  I  hope  the  time  is  not  far  off 
when  you  will  know  the  happiness  of  finding  some 
one  worthy  of  the  great  love  it  is  in  you  to  give." 

She  stopped  crying  suddenly,  and  having  done 
his  duty,  Dan,  with  a  white,  drawn  face,  groped  his 
way  back  to  his  chair. 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  his  arm. 
"  Did  you  know,  that  time  in  Paris  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Know  what?  Oh,  that  I  was  going  to  be 
blind?  Yes,  I  knew  then." 

"  And  you  never  told  me  !     Why  not,  Dan  ?  " 

He  hesitated.     "  There  were  many  reasons." 

"  Could  any  of  them  have  made  it  kind  to  have 
kept  it  from  me  ?  Did  all  our  years  together  go 
for  nothing?"  » 

"  That  was  just  it,  Win ;  they  went  for  nothing. 
We  had  come  to  the  parting  of  the  roads." 

"  And  did  you  think  we  could  part  with  the 
roads?" 

Dan  straightened  himself.  "The  poor  child 
feels  she  owes  me  something,"  he  thought. 

Then  with  a  shudder  of  indignation  he  asked 
himself  if  she  could  be  thinking  of  making  the 
great  sacrifice ;  if  she  could  think  he  would  use 
her  beautiful  life  to  keep  him  from  tripping  in  the 
dark. 

He  had  never  seen  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  now 
183 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  ROAD 

her  voice  had  come  to  him  broken  with  sobs ;  he 
had  felt  her  tears  on  his  hand,  and  her  fingers  had 
clung  to  his  in  weakness  and  appeal.  Her  grief 
was  for  him,  her  pity,  her  new  tenderness  for  him, 
and  his  temptation  was  almost  more  than  he  could 
bear. 

A  certain  affection  she  had  always  given  him, 
and  her  love  he  knew  he  could  win  —  even  now ; 
for  the  pendulum  of  his  inner  life  swung  as 
strongly  and  boldly  as  ever.  What  she  felt  to-day 
was  only  pity;  but  in  after  years  —  he  set  his 
teeth  —  it  was  too  late ! 

There  was  silence  between  them,  and  in  the 
autumn  fields.  Once  a  crow  called  from  a  hay 
rick,  and  some  withered  leaves  dropped  from  the 
woodbine. 

Winifred  looked  into  Dan's  face ;  she  could  only 
guess  at  the  bitterness  of  an  infirmity  that  had 
been  worn  before  thousands  of  eyes,  at  the  agony 
of  a  humiliation  regarding  which  austere  lips  were 
proudly  silent.  In  the  rugged  lines  of  that  face 
she  read  no  resignation ;  but  something  of  proud 
patience.  The  brows  were  graver,  the  mouth  un- 
conquerable as  ever. 

In  the  silence,  Winifred  looked,  understood,  and 
stepped  royally  and  gladly  into  her  own.  "  I  love 
him,"  she  said  in  her  soul,  and  was  dumb  with 
184 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

the  wonder  and  joy  of  it.  *4 1  love  him,"  and  she 
wanted  to  cry  it  aloud,  she  wanted  the  stars  to 
hear.  She  rose  and  stood  by  him,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  he  must  know. 

"Dan,  do  you  remember  our  grainfield  with  the 
wind  and  sun  on  it  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

Yes,  Dan  remembered.  Why  must  she  remind 
him  of  that  ?  in  those  days  there  had  been  light  — 
O  God  !  there  had  been  light.  He  had  heard  her 
move  towards  him,  and  her  nearness  in  the  dark 
was  a  torture. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  told  me," 
she  was  saying. 

"  To  have  told  "  — 

"  What  was  coming  to  you." 

"  It  was  best  for  me  to  pass  from  your  life,  as 
you  must  pass  from  mine." 

In  his  pain  he  spoke  harshly.  He  felt  that  this 
interview  must  end,  or  he  could  not  answer  for  his 
manhood. 

Winifred  was  speaking  again,  and  there  was  a 
bewildering  sweetness  in  her  voice.  "  Won't  you 
come  out  into  the  woods  with  me  ? "  she  said. 
"  There  is  a  stillness,  and  a  glory,  and  a  wonder  in 
them,  that  is  more  to  be  felt  than  seen,  and  autumn 
leaves  are  dropping  through  the  silence,  and  the 
nuthatches  are  calling.  Don't  you  remember  how 
185 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

we  used  to  hear  them  when  we  were  boy  and  girl 
together  ?  " 

At  any  price  —  let  Winifred  think  what  she 
would  —  this  must  end.  Dan's  face  grew  resolute, 
and  his  moment  of  weakness  was  past. 

"  I  don't  think  you  understand  me,  Winifred," 
he  began  almost  sternly.  "  The  past  is  gone,  trod- 
den down  and  sealed.  You  are  to  think  of  me  as 
if  I  had  never  been." 

Winifred  drew  back  from  him,  startled.  Dan 
had  never  spoken  to  her  with  this  voice. 

"  Shall  I  put  it  plainer ;  or  do  you  understand  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  do,  Dan  —  quite." 

He  had  said  he  hoped  she  would  love  some  other 
man.  It  was  for  his  honor's  sake  to  renounce  all 
claims ;  but  now  he  was  speaking  as  if  he  did  not 
love  her.  His  voice  was  deep,  quiet,  resolute. 

"  Most  of  my  early  life  was  passed  trying  to 
make  you  love  me." 

"  Yes,  Dan." 

"  The  great  thing  I  feel  gratitude  for  to-day  is 
that  you  never  loved  me." 

"Yes,  Dan,"  and  now  her  answer  was  little 
more  than  a  whisper.  She  put  out  her  hand  as  if 
to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"  One  word  more.  The  part  of  that  past  that 
related  to  my  love  for  you  has  no  longer  a  mean- 
186 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

ing.  I  have  ceased  to  expect,  ceased  to  wish  any 
woman  to  love  me,  or  to  be  my  wife.  You  a«e 
quite  sure  you  understand  me,  Winifred  ?  " 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  wide,  terrified  eyes, 
and  parted  lips.  She  was  numb,  and  dumb,  and 
breathless,  —  a  dethroned  queen,  —  an  agonized 
woman.  It  was  all  over,  then ;  she  had  learned  her 
love  too  late,  and  must  pay  the  price. 

"  You  are  sure  you  understand  me  ?  "  Dan  said 
again. 

He  must  never  know  —  Winifred  found  her 
voice,  and  answered  him  quietly  —  through  white 
lips. 

« I  think  I  understand  it  all*"  she  said.  "  Good- 
by,  Dan." 

He  paused  a  moment  before  speaking,  then  — 
"  Your  aunt  will  be  alone  here  after  to-morrow," 
he  told  her.  "  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me  if  you 
could  still  feel  that  this  was  your  home.  I  only 
bought  it  to  hold  for  you." 

"  That  was  like  you,  Dan ;  but  I  think  I  had 
better  go."  She  paused  and  looked  at  him  —  in 
his  face  she  could  see  no  sign  of  weakness,  nor 
doubt,  nor  need  of  her  love.  Suddenly  she  turned, 
aiid  passed  through  the  garden,  and  down  the  well- 
remembered  avenue  to  the  high  road  beyond.  Not 
once  did  she  look  back. 

187 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Dan  sat  on,  motionless,  in  the  sunny  silence 
where  she  had  left  him.  The  world  was  very  still. 
Now  and  then  crows  cawed  from  the  meadow  as 
they  had  done  in  the  moment  of  his  temptation,  and 
once  he  felt  a  withered  leaf  drop  on  his  hand.  For 
a  long  time  he  sat  there,  then  his  lips  moved  and 
two  tears  —  the  terrible  tears  of  a  strong  man  — 
came  slowly  into  his  eyes. 
188 


Chapter  XV 

WINIFRED  PAYS  HER  DEBT 

doubt  Dan's  love  was  like  doubting  the 
existence  of  suns  and  moons,  and  Winifred 
doubted  this  love  in  the  very  hour  of  pain  and 
glory  when  she  recognized  her  own. 

Suffering  was  startling,  bewildering,  hideous, 
and  she  struggled  with  it  as  a  new-born  child  fights 
with  air.  This  was  on  the  long  journey  home, 
when  she  sat  in  silence  through  hours  of  darkness, 
and  saw  the  stars  fade  and  the  waning  moon 
climb  a  sky  that  was  gray  with  dawn.  Then  Wini- 
fred prayed. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Dan  and  she  had 
stood  under  a  waning  moon,  when  he  had  looked 
into  her  eyes  and  spoken  his  love ;  but  that  was 
an  aeon  ago.  He  could  never  look  into  her  eyes 
again,  or  see  the  light  of  moon  or  sun.  There  had 
come  to  him  what  was  worse  than  any  death,  and 
there  had  come  to  her  — 

When  the  day  was  bright,  those  who  traveled 
with  her  saw  a  still,  white-faced  woman,  beside 
189 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

whom  it  seemed  best  not  to  sit.  Within  herself 
Winifred  was  wondering  how  it  was  that,  suffer- 
ing so,  she  lived. 

Edith  met  her  at  the  door  of  her  own  room,  and 
a  pair  of  questioning  eyes  had  to  be  parried.  She 
turned  a  cold  cheek  to  her  sister's  lips. 

"You  saw  him,  Win?" 

"Yes." 

"How  — how  is  he?" 

"  He  is  blind." 

Winifred  shivered  as  she  put  Edith  from  her. 
Then  she  caught  sight  of  her  own  face  in  the 
mirror,  and  paused  ;  for  it  was  not  so  that  she  had 
looked  yesterday,  or  on  any  other  day  of  her  life, 
and  Edith  must  not  know. 

She  sat  with  her  back  to  the  light,  and  removed 
her  veil  deliberately.  Edith  was  nervous  and  re- 
strained. She  played  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
started  several  times,  without  success,  to  speak. 

"  Is  it  true  about  Kate  ? "  she  ventured  at 
last. 

"  About  Kate  ?  "  repeated  Winifred.  After  all 
it  might  be  well  to  talk  of  Kate,  of  everything 
in  the  world,  save  that  which  was  more  than  this 
world  or  the  next. 

"  What  is  it  about  Kate  ?  "  she  asked. 

Edith  seemed  puzzled,  and  a  little  tremulous. 
190 


WINIFRED  PAYS  HER  DEBT 

Her  eyes  questioned  Winifred,  but  Winifred's  fin- 
gers were  composedly  busy  with  her  hair. 

"  What  about  Kate  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"Nothing — I  suppose,  or  he  would  have  told 
you." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"Dan." 

The  busy  fingers  paused  ;  but  only  for  an  in- 
stant, for  Winifred  saw  the  danger  signal,  and  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  was  strong  within  her. 
She  was  dreaming  or  insane ;  but  in  her  eyes, 
looking  at  her  from  the  glass,  there  was  that  which 
no  one  must  know. 

"  What  should  he  have  told  me  of  Kate  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Only  whether  he  —  I  mean  if  it  is  true  what 
people  say." 

"  What  do  people  say  ?  " 

Edith  had  suspected  herself  to  be  treading  on  a 
charged  mine ;  but  if  Win  could  speak  in  such  a 
tone,  it  was  all  right. 

"  Of  course  it 's  only  gossip,  or  he  would  have 
told  you,"  she  continued  more  easily.  "  Only  they 
say  Kate  is  no  longer  the  same  person ;  she  has 
given  up  society,  and  she  and  Dan  "  — 

"  She  and  Dan  ?  "    questioned  Winifred  quietly 
Assuredly  she  was  dreaming. 
191 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  She  and  Dan  are  together  a  good  deal ;  that  is, 
they  go  to  concerts,  and  he  sees  nothing  of  any  one 
else,  so  of  course  people  talk." 

"  I  see ;  they  say  Dan  is  going  to  marry  her." 

Winifred  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand ;  she  felt 
an  hysterical  desire  to  laugh.  So  it  was  Kate  — 
Kate  Randolph  —  whom  Dan  had  despised,  and 
she  had  laughed  at. 

"I  think  Kate  has  loved  Dan  all  her  life," 
Edith  was  saying. 

Yes  ;  Winifred  saw  it  all  now,  a  thousand  long- 
forgotten  words  and  looks  flashed  through  her  con- 
sciousness. Kate  had  loved  him  all  her  life,  but 
she  too  had  loved  him,  and  on  looking  back,  she 
could  remember  no  time  when  she  had  not  loved 
him,  only  she  had  never  known  her  heart  till  it 
had  been  half  broken.  Kate  was  wiser,  and  to 
Kate  — 

Edith  was  still  talking.  Herr  Grim  had  sent  a 
message  that  morning  to  the  effect  that  Winifred 
could  have  a  hearing  at  the  Cosmopolitan  Opera 
House  at  half  past  three,  on  the  afternoon  of  Thurs- 
day next.  He  wished  to  hear  her  sing  "  Lucia,"  or 
if  not  that,  then  a  scene  from  "  Traviata,"  and  if 
she  were  not  there  at  the  exact  hour,  another 
would  take  her  place. 

"  He  will  probably  be  an  hour  late  himself," 
192 


WINIFRED  PAYS  HER  DEBT 

remarked  Edith  wisely,  "but  you  must  be  there 
on  time.  The  message  was  rather  high-handed, 
but  I  suppose  you  had  better  accept  the  terms." 

Winifred  said  she  supposed  so  too ;  and  then, 
at  last,  she  was  alone.  So  this  was  all  that  was 
left  her.  The  life  of  an  opera  singer,  —  work 
without  success,  or  valueless  triumph.  She  had 
lost  Dan's  love  —  lost  it  through  her  own  fault, 
and  the  rest  of  her  life  must  pay  the  price.  And 
Dan  was  blind ;  she  had  stood  unseen  before  his 
face,  as  the  world  of  men  must  forever  stand. 
Winifred  moaned  and  shivered,  thinking  of  the 
pity,  the  loneliness,  the  horror  of  it.  What  was 
her  own  life,  or  death,  or  pain,  to  this  ?  But  she 
could  have  made  him  happy  once,  for  a  few  years 
before  the  darkness  came,  and  after  —  it  would 
have  been  enough  to  answer  his  loss  with  the  de- 
votion of  her  life,  and  well  she  knew  she  could 
have  kept  his  love,  for  there  was  no  mystery  of  his 
nature  which  she  could  not  understand,  no  depth 
or  height  where  she  could  not  meet  him. 

But  Kate  —  Kate  Randolph  !  Winifred  heard 
a  step  in  the  next  room.  No  one  must  see  her 
or  speak  to  her  now.  She  crossed  swiftly,  and 
locking  the  door  leaned  against  it,  panting.  To- 
morrow she  would  find  strength  to  face  the  world ; 
but  this  hour  was  hers. 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Once  or  twice  she  felt  she  must  be  going  mad : 
she  was  afraid  of  her  own  thoughts ;  but  she  was 
more  afraid  of  the  eyes  that  looked  from  the  mir- 
ror, for  in  them  she  saw  what  must  be  with  her  to 
the  end  of  her  life. 

When  the  darkness  came  to  hide  the  eyes,  she 
was  glad ;  but  the  night  was  hideous.  Once  or 
twice  she  slept  from  exhaustion,  and  once  she 
dreamed  that  she  struggled  with  a  great  flood  — 
struggled,  cried  out,  and  was  drowning,  when  Dan 
caught  her  in  strong  arms,  strove  against  the  wa- 
ters with  her,  and  laughed,  and  kissed  her  on 
the  lips.  Then  she  awoke.  Sunlight  was  coming 
through  the  window,  and  another  day  was  ready 
for  her. 

She  rose  to  meet  it  with  pale  lips  that  faltered 
no  longer.     Life  must  be  lived,  and  she  would  live 
it  proudly  and  strongly,  though  it  might  not  hold 
another  hour  of  happiness. 
194 


Chapter  XVI 

TOO  LATE 

A  PAKT  from  her  love  for  Dan  and  the  selfish 
.XJL  pain  of  it,  there  was  the  knowledge  of  his  mis- 
fortune which  roused  all  that  was  in  her  of  divine 
womanhood  ;  and  this  very  tenderness,  this  aching 
pity,  saved  her  from  becoming  hard  and  embittered. 
In  the  days  that  followed  she  spoke  little,  and  the 
lonely  eyes  asked  for  no  sympathy ;  but  in  a  new 
gentleness  and  thought  of  others  she  paid  uncon- 
scious tribute  to  the  exquisite  and  glorified  service 
that  might  have  been  hers.  Outwardly  she  lived 
as  the  rest  of  the  world,  doing  such  work  as  there 
was  to  do,  and  smiling  when  others  smiled ;  but  at 
night  she  would  lie  looking  into  the  darkness,  and 
pray  fiercely,  "  O  God,  kill  me  —  kill  me !  " 

Dan  had  said, "  Don't  pray  for  a  breaking  of  the 
law,  Win,"  and  this  was  the  law  —  that  he  should 
be  blind,  and  under  the  solemn  hand  of  his  fate,  in 
the  loneliness  and  darkness  of  his  life,  should  find 
that  which  made  herself  and  love  seem  small. 

But  Kate  —  how  could  there  be  room  for  Kate  ? 
195 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

She  had  loved  him  always  and  given  freely  what 
Winifred  denied ;  and  if  in  the  ruin  of  his  hopes 
he  had  stooped  to  lift  the  one  remaining  gift,  who 
was  she  —  Winifred  —  to  blame  him  ?  But  it  was 
not  like  Dan  to  stoop,  and  though  she  might  have 
lost  his  love,  she  knew  that  to  no  other  woman 
would  it  be  given.  For  herself  there  would  be  no 
other  love  than  Dan,  no  other  husband,  or  lover  ; 
but  she  had  her  career,  and  in  pursuit  of  this  Win- 
ifred never  wavered.  Gladden  existence  it  could 
not ;  justify  it  to  some  extent  it  could,  and  did. 

Her  manager  was  anxious  about  her.  "  It  would 
seem  as  if  the  climate  of  New  York  did  not  agree 
with  you,"  he  said  once  ;  "  your  voice  is  bad  to-day 
and  good  to-morrow.  How  do  you  expect  to  make 
a  success  of  your  debut  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  a  success." 

"  Must  —  must  "  —  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
impatiently.  "  How  is  it  to  be  accomplished,  this 
'  must '  of  which  you  Americans  are  so  fond  ?  " 

"  But  you  said  the  other  day  when  I  sang  the 
4  Ave  Maria'  that  there  was  something  in  my  voice 
that  had  not  been  there  before." 

"  Yes,  I  have  not  forgotten.   You  made  me  want 

to  be  good,  and  I  do  not  often  want  that  —  to  be 

good.     It  is  true  you  have  something  that  is  new 

to  you ;  but  you  cannot  command  it,  it  is  here  to- 

196 


TOO  LATE 

day  and  gone  tomorrow.  That  is  not  the  way  to 
become  great." 

The  man  left  Winifred  toying  absently  with  her 
music.  Her  career  was  all  she  had,  little  enough, 
but  all ;  and  in  the  immediate  present,  success  was 
threatened  by  more  or  less  sleepless  nights  and  days 
of  misery.  Suddenly  she  looked  up,  and  Kate 
Randolph  stood  in  the  doorway. 

During  a  moment  of  silence  the  two  women  faced 
each  other.  Kate  saw,  not  the  cool,  buoyantly  con- 
fident girl  she  remembered,  but  a  still,  pale  wo- 
man, with  sensitive  lips,  and  eyes  that  were  as  depth 
upon  depth  of  shadow. 

Winifred  came  forward  and  put  out  her  hand  ; 
then  she  saw  that  in  Kate's  face  was  more  of  sad- 
ness and  less  of  bitterness  than  there  had  been  two 
years  ago,  and  Kate's  eyes  no  longer  looked  at  her 
with  reluctant  respect,  but  fairly,  as  one  looks  at 
an  equal  or  an  inferior. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Winifred  ?  "  asked  Kate  quietly. 

Winifred  moved  a  chair  to  the  fire.  "  Won't  you 
sit  down  ?  "  she  said.  "  Edith  is  out,  but  I  hope 
you  can  stay  and  see  me.  No,  I  am  not  ill." 

Kate  seated  herself,  and  unbuttoned  her  coat, 
talking  the  while  as  rapidly,  but  not  so  naturally,  as 
usual. 

"  What  a  charming  parlor  you  have  I  I  suppose 
197 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

you  are  great  now  —  what,  not  great  ?  I  have  n't 
heard  you  sing,  you  see.  You  are  advertised  to 
appear  this  winter,  and  when  you  do,  quite  a  party 
of  us  are  coming  on  to  hear  you.  We  only  left 
Boston  yesterday,  and  are  going  back  at  once." 

Kate  paused ;  she  had  come  into  the  room  fear- 
ing and  respecting  Winifred  too  little  to  dislike 
her  —  for  had  she  not  deserted  Dan  in  his  time  of 
trial  ?  But  Winifred  was  holding  her  with  still, 
dark  eyes,  and  though  she  must  be  heartless,  and 
ungrateful,  and  vain,  there  was  that  in  her  person- 
ality which  made  Kate  feel  at  a  disadvantage,  and 
chatter  foolishly  in  self-defense. 

Winifred  watched  her  gravely.  She  rarely  ex- 
erted herself  to  make  conversation,  but  just  now 
she  wanted  to  keep  Kate,  and  questioned  her  about 
unimportant  matters,  such  as  mutual  acquaintances, 
and  the  success  of  the  grand  opera  troupe  on  its 
visit  to  Boston.  Kate  answered  eagerly  to  hide 
her  unaccountable  nervousness. 

"  '  La  Mira  '  was  the  favorite,"  she  said,  "  but 
every  one  did  n't  like  her.  Dan  thought  "  —  she 
caught  her  breath,  startled  that  this  name  should 
have  been  spoken  between  them. 

After  a  moment's  pause  Winifred  said  quietly, 
"  You  are  with  him  often  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Kate. 
198 


TOO  LATE 

Winifred  did  not  move  ;  but  now  she  looked  at 
Kate  hungrily.  "  How  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  am  afraid  he  works  too  hard,"  said  Kate. 
When  she  spoke  of  Dan,  there  was  a  new  look  in 
her  face.  Winifred  saw  it.  Perhaps  Kate  could 
give  him  something  of  happiness,  and  if  so  — 

Because  they  both  loved  him,  and  because  he 
was  blind,  the  barriers  between  them  were  falling. 
Their  questions  and  answers  came  slowly,  as  things 
from  the  depths  will. 

" Have  you  seen  him,  Winifred?" 

"Yes."     She  grew  paler  as  she  said  it. 

"  I  mean  since  "  — 

"  Yes,"  said  Winifred  again. 

"  Did  you  think  he  had  changed  —  much  ? " 
questioned  Kate,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Winifred  did  not  answer,  but  she  turned  her  face 
so  that  her  cheek  rested  against  the  high-backed 
chair.  It  was  a  movement  oddly  suggestive  of  pain. 
Kate  was  startled,  and  began  to  watch  her  strangely. 

"  He  is  more  like  himself  than  he  was  a  year 
ago,"  she  said. 

"  Were  you  with  him  soon  after  —  his  sight 
went  ?  "  questioned  Winifred  without  moving. 

"  No ;  he  would  n't  see  any  of  us  at  first.  I 
think  he  suspected  us  of  wanting  to  be  kind  — 
because  we  pitied  him." 

199 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  know,"  whispered  Winifred.  Then  she  turned 
her  eyes  to  Kate's  face,  and  in  that  look  the  bar- 
riers went  down.  They  were  two  women  loving 
the  same  man,  and  neither  was  ashamed.  Kate 
spoke  suddenly  with  low-voiced,  tremulous  passion. 

"  But  you  went  to  Russia,  Winifred ;  you  left 
him  when  he  needed  you,  and  only  you  in  all  the 
world." 

"It  was  only  two  months  ago  that  I  heard," 
answered  Winifred. 

"  That  you  heard  "  — 

"  That  he  was  blind." 

The  beating  of  Kate's  heart  was  suffocating. 
Winifred  was  strangely  still. 

"  But  my  letter  "  — 

"What  letter?" 

"  The  one  I  wrote  in  Paris  —  you  must  remem- 
ber. You  know  the  time  I  saw  you.  Dan  was 
blind  then,  and  I  knew  it.  I  meant  to  tell  you, 
only  —  only  I  could  n't ;  so  I  wrote  instead." 

"  You  wrote  me  —  two  years  ago  —  that  he  was 
blind?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !  you  must  have  received  it,  Winifred. 
The  concierge  took  it  herself  ;  she  told  me  you  had 
it  —  and  you  went  to  Russia  just  the  same." 

"  I  never  saw  the  letter,"  said  Winifred,  and 
again  she  turned  away  her  face,  with  closed  eyes. 
200 


TOO  LATE 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  Kate  cried  out 
piteously,  — 

"Winifred!  Winifred!  —  if  you  had  seen  the 
letter,  would  you  have  come  back?  " 

But  Winifred  did  not  answer,  and  the  moveless 
profile  outlined  against  the  chair  told  nothing. 

'  Dan  thinks  you  knew  —  two  years  ago,"  con- 
tinued Kate. 

"  It  is  no  matter  now,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  how  it  was  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  matter  now,"  repeated  Winifred.  Then 
she  turned  and  looked  at  Kate. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me,  instead  of  writing  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"Because  I  hated  you  —  and  because  I  have 
loved  Dan  all  my  life,"  said  Kate.  "  Afterwards  I 
wrote,  because  I  loved  him  more  than  I  hated  you, 
and  if  you  would  make  him  happy  "  — 

Winifred  rose,  and  walked  to  and  fro  across 
the  room.  Kate  watched  her  with  her  hand  at  her 
side.  Since  Winifred  loved  Dan,  it  was  all  over 
for  her,  and  there  was  a  look  of  wild  misery  in  her 
eyes.  Suddenly  Winifred  paused  by  her  chair. 

"  Kate,"  she  said  gently. 

Kate  looked  up  to  meet  grave,  deep  eyes  and 
smiling  lips.  Winifred  was  holding  out  her  hand- 

"  I  wish  you  would  try  not  to  hate  me  any 
201 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

longer,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  a  hard  woman  — 
an  unkind  one  often,  I  am  afraid ;  but  perhaps  I 
have  been  most  unkind  to  myself,  and  that  should 
make  it  easier  to  forgive  me,  Kate."  She  smiled 
again.  The  hand  that  held  Kate's  was  firm,  and 
the  steady  voice  low  and  thrilling.  "Perhaps 
some  day  you  will  tell  Dan  of  the  lost  letter,"  she 
continued ;  "  I  don't  like  to  have  him  think  his  old- 
est friend  could  be  so  unkind  as  to  have  kept  silent 
during  these  two  years.  You  will  tell  him  ? " 
The  last  words  were  more  a  command  than  a 
request. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Kate  tremulously,  as  she  rose. 

"  And  you  will  not  keep  on  hating  me  always?  " 

Kate  looked  up. 

"  I  never  knew  you  before,"  she  said  with  a  dry, 
choking  sob.  "  I  might  have  known  —  I  might 
have  known  he  could  never  care  for  me,  after  lov- 
ing you." 

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Chapter  XVII 

THE  WORLD'S  VIEW 

IT  was  during  these  first  winter  months  that 
Walter  Garrison  won  the  desire  of  his  life : 
Edith  Meredith  returned  his  love. 

"I  thought,"  she  confided  to  him,  "that  you 
would  never  find  it  out." 

"  Did  you  find  it  out  about  me  —  about  my  car- 
ing, I  mean?"  he  asked  with  a  lover's  incoher- 
ence. 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder  to  look  at 
him.  "  Stupid,"  she  said,  and  nestled  back  into 
her  former  position.  "  Stupid,"  she  repeated. 
"  Why,  I  knew  it  ages  and  ages  ago." 

"  No !  did  you,  though !  "  he  exclaimed  with 
honest  surprise.  "  How  many  ages  ago  ?  "  and  this 
involved  a  discussion  as  to  the  precise  moments  in 
which  certain  words,  looks,  and  feelings  had  come 


"  Why  did  n't  you  ask  me  before  ?  "  she  inquired 
audaciously. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  say  no." 
203 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Afraid  !  Nonsense  !  A  man  should  never  be 
afraid.  Poor  Dan  never  was  —  he  told  Win  he 
loved  her  every  minute  he  was  with  her." 

"Did  she  repeat  his  words  to  you?"  asked 
Walter  indignantly. 

"  Of  course  not !  She  would  never  talk  of  him, 
but  have  n't  I  eyes  and  ears  ?  and  as  for  words,  do 
you  think  words  are  the  only  things  with  which  to 
say  « I  love'?" 

Edith  hesitated.  There  was  one  point  which 
she  felt  almost  afraid  to  approach  with  Walter, 
but  on  this  occasion  she  ventured. 

"  Is  he  going  to  marry  Kate  ?  "  she  asked. 

Walter  crossed  his  knees  and  looked  gloomily  at 
the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  again. 

"  It  destroys  all  one's  ideas  of  constancy ;  I  can't 
believe  in  any  one  now,"  complained  Edith. 

Walter  frowned.  "  Dan  is  not  to  blame,"  he 
said.  "  Your  sister  took  the  best  he  had  for  the 
best  part  of  his  life,  and  gave  him  nothing  back. 
Dan  's  not  to  blame." 

"  No,  dear,  of  course  not.  Did  I  ever  say  he 
was  ?  " 

Walter  continued  an  obstinate  defense  of  his 
204 


THE  WORLD'S  VIEW 

friend  in  the  longest  sentence  he  was  ever  heard  to 
make. 

"  She  gave  him  nothing.  God  knows  what  she 
made  him  suffer,  and  what  he  has  had  to  suffer 
from  life  since,  and  what  he  must  suffer  till  he  dies. 
And  now,  if  there  comes  a  woman  who  gives  him 
all  Winifred  denied  him,  he  is  blamed  for  taking 
it.  Do  you  ever  think  of  the  loneliness  of  blind- 
ness, Edith  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and  will  you  think  of  something 
else  —  Win's  eyes  when  his  name  is  mentioned." 

Walter  recrossed  his  knees,  and  looked  at  the  toe 
of  his  other  boot. 

"  Have  you  noticed  ?  "  asked  Edith. 

He  nodded. 

"  She  loves  him,  Walter." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  gravely. 

"  Now  that  you  have  got  over  being  angry  with 
me  for  blaming  Dan  —  which  I  never  did  —  tell 
me  what  we  can  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  We  can't  do  anything  ;  I  know  Dan." 

"  He  is  going  to  marry  Kate." 

Walter  tugged  at  his  mustache. 

"  Dan 's  a  fool,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"  Does  he  "  — began  Edith,  and  paused. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"It  is  terrible  —  two  such  lives  being  ruined 
205 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  KOAD 

through  a  misunderstanding!     Couldn't  you  ask 
him  —  could  n't  you  tell  him  "  — 

"  I  should  like  to  see  any  one  try,"  he  said  em- 
phatically. 

"  I  should  never  dare  to  say  anything  to  Win," 
acknowledged  Edith.  "  She  and  Dan  are  the  kind 
who  must  make  or  spoil  their  own  lives ;  no  one 
can  help  or  save  them.  But  it 's  terrible !  They 
were  made  for  each  other." 

A  few  days  later,  Walter  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  going  to  tell  Dan  of  his  engagement. 

"Oh,  Walter,  must  you?  How  long  will  it 
take  ?  "  cried  Edith,  much  distressed. 

"  I  can  go  one  night  and  come  back  the  next." 

"  Then  I  cannot  see  you  for  a  whole  day.  Why 
not  write  to  him  ?  " 

"  And  have  Stirling  read  it  ?  " 

That  was  of  course  impossible,  and  Walter 
went. 

"  I  think  I  am  a  little,  just  a  little,  jealous  of 
Dan,"  said  Edith,  while  Walter's  arms  held  her  in 
a  good-by  embrace.  "I  used  to  think  when  I  first 
knew  you,  that  you  would  never  care  for  any 
woman  as  you  cared  for  him." 

"  I  used  to  think  so  too." 

"  And  now  —  no,  don't  kiss  me  —  and  now? " 

"  Now  I  do." 

206 


THE  WORLD'S  VIEW 

"  As  much  —  no,  you  can't  kiss  me  yet  —  only 
as  much  ?  or  more  ?  " 

"  More,"  answered  Walter  with  a  deep  breath. 

When  he  arrived  in  Boston,  Walter  was  told 
that  Dan  had  gone  out  of  town  to  interview  a  sick 
client,  but  was  expected  back  during  the  early 
afternoon.  So  he  renewed  old  associations,  and 
several  of  his  classmates  lunched  with  him  at  the 
club. 

Of  Dan  he  heard  different  accounts.  Some 
spoke  of  him  as  the  greatest  lawyer  in  the  state, 
but  reproached  him  for  sternness  and  coldness  in 
his  personal  relations.  It  was  agreed  that  Stirling, 
the  little  secretary,  would  give  his  life  as  a  step- 
ping-stone to  anything  his  employer  might  need, 
from  which  it  was  argued  that  Dan  must  have  his 
moments  of  relenting.  But  many  there  were  who 
feared  him,  or  felt  uncomfortable  before  the  im- 
mense reserve  and  gravity  of  his  personality.  Ex- 
cept in  court  his  words  were  few,  and  the  dryly 
humorous  smile  that  sometimes  crossed  his  face 
never  softened  it. 

It  was  agreed  that  in  this  one  winter  he  had 
withdrawn  more  than  ever  into  himself,  and  that 
human  intercourse  with  him  became  increasingly 
difficult. 

If  his  acceptance  of  his  lot  were  plucky,  it  was 
207 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

said  to  be  unchristian;  but  then  it  was  a  well 
known  fact  that  Dan  Howard  was  not  a  church- 
man, and  had  refused  all  religious  consolation. 
Upon  this  there  ensued  a  discussion  concerning 
the  meaning  of  the  word  religion,  and  many  things 
were  said  of  an  unorthodox  nature.  One  man 
claimed  that  the  church  was  only  for  those  who 
were  not  strong  enough  to  do  without  it ;  and  this 
statement  provoked  an  angry  retort,  to  the  effect 
that  it  was  just  like  Daniel  Howard  to  think  he 
was  stronger  than  any  one  else,  and  the  argument 
reached  that  point  where  each  man  feels  a  contrary 
opinion  to  be  a  personal  grievance. 

Walter  took  no  part  in  the  conversation.  The 
days  when  a  blow  answered  abuse  of  Dan  were 
over,  and  when  it  came  to  words,  Dan  had  many 
more  eloquent  defenders  than  he. 

He  left  the  table  with  a  heavy  heart  and  wrote 
to  Edith,  an  occupation  which  afforded  him  infi- 
nite consolation,  although  he  knew  that  the  letter 
could  not  reach  her  before  he  did.  It  was  a  long 
letter,  but  the  writing  of  it  did  not  occupy  him  till 
the  hour  of  Dan's  arrival.  So  he  wandered  aim- 
lessly about  the  streets,  pausing  at  old  landmarks 
and  recalling  the  days  of  his  lifelong  friendship 
with  Dan.  There  were  the  early  memories  of  him, 
a  wild,  whimsically  reckless  boy;  and  then,  in  the 
208 


THE  WORLD'S  VIEW 

pride  of  his  youthful  arrogance,  as  the  roughest 
player  on  the  eleven,  the  hero  of  "  bloody  Monday 
night."  Later  there  came  the  shadow  of  Wini- 
fred and  a  grim  settling  of  lips  and  jaw  as  Dan 
recognized  his  life's  object.  Then  followed  years 
of  unwavering  pursuit  of  the  goal,  a  fearless  chal- 
lenge of  results,  and  finally  the  awful  hour  when 
the  heavens  crashed  through  his  life,  leaving  it  in 
ruins.  After  the  first  moments  of  fear  and  horror 
he  had  turned  his  face  resolutely  towards  the 
waste  spaces  in  which  he  must  walk  the  rest  of  his 
days,  and  no  one  had  seen  him  falter.  Walter 
knew  that  the  reserve  and  apparent  coldness  were 
assumed  as  an  armor,  an  evidence  of  the  untam- 
able pride  that  had  been  his  in  his  youth.  The 
change  in  him  this  winter  could  only  be  accounted 
for  by  this  advent  of  Winifred,  which  had  brought 
an  added  strain  to  bear  on  his  powers  of  endurance. 
Even  thoughts  of  Edith  could  not  quiet  the 
ache  in  Walter's  heart  as  he  neared  his  old  friend's 
office. 

209 


Chapter  XVIII 

THE  FRIEND'S  VIEW 

"YT'ES,  Mr.  Howard  had  returned,"  the  clerk 
J_  told  him.  He  was  in  the  inner  office  dictat- 
ing to  a  stenographer,  and  through  the  open  door 
Walter  could  see  him.  He  looked  tired,  and  older ; 
there  was  some  gray  in  his  hair  that  surely  had  not 
been  there  in  the  autumn,  but  there  was  more  than 
this,  and  Walter  did  not  wonder  that  some  feared 
the  tragedy  of  that  granite  hewn  face  with  its 
sightless  eyes.  And  this  was  Dan,  who  had  dared 
so  much  and  whose  hopes  had  been  so  high. 

Walter  would  not  interrupt  him.  "  I  will  wait 
till  he  finishes  this  piece  of  work,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  But  Dan  raised  his  head  suddenly,  and 
stopped  dictating. 

"  Who  is  in  the  outer  office  ?  "  he  called,  and 
Walter  was  forced  to  declare  himself. 

There  was  no  lack  of  warmth  in  the  powerful 
grip  of  Dan's  hands.  "  I  am  awfully  glad  to  see 
you  —  hear  you,  I  mean,"  he  said  heartily.  "  When 
do  you  go  back  ?  " 

210 


THE  FRIEND'S  VIEW 

"  To-night.    Can't  you  knock  off  work  soon  ?  " 

"  There 's  only  one  letter  to  finish.  I  can  be 
with  you  in  a  moment." 

Walter  waited  while  last  affairs  were  concluded. 
There  were  questions  to  ask  and  answer,  and  a  gar- 
rulous client  came  in  with  a  grievance.  Being 
Saturday,  the  clerks  were  anxious  to  go,  and  the 
delay  caused  confusion  and  impatience.  Dan  sat 
unmoved  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  directing,  control- 
ling, quieting,  without  a  sign  of  impatience  or 
hurry. 

"  I  notice  you  never  swear  now,"  Walter  said, 
as  they  went  out  into  the  street  together.  "  Is  it 
the  result  of  special  virtue  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  the  result  of  inadequacy.  If  I  could 
find  an  oath  big  enough,  I  should  use  it.  But  I 
don't  believe  the  man  who  invented  swearing  ever 
went  blind.  Tell  me  about  yourself,  Wally.  You 
don't  know  how  good  it  is  to  hear  your  voice 
again." 

Yes,  Dan  had  grown  older.  Walter  did  not 
want  to  tell  his  happiness  to  that  worn  face. 

"  You  are  working  too  hard,"  he  said.  "  What 's 
the  use  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  only  way.  It  keeps  me  tired,  and  then 
I  don't  feel  so  young." 

"Where  is  Stirling?" 

211 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Gone  to  see  his  mother  and  sister.  Imagine 
having  a  mother  and  sister  to  go  to  !  " 

It  would  have  been  better  had  Dan  been  cold,  as 
the  world  thought  him.  How  could  Walter  tell 
this  lonely  man  of  his  love  and  happiness  ? 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  of  you  as  domestic, 
exactly,"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  suppose  I  get  weak-minded  sitting  in  the 
dark." 

"  Is  Stirling  still  satisfactory  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
him ;  he  is  a  good  boy,  but  he  has  his  limitations." 

Dan  smiled  and  his  face  softened  amazingly. 

"  Stirling  and  I  have  queer  experiences,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Sometimes  when  I  am  in  the  country  I 
have  a  foolish  hankering  to  know  if  the  sky  is  blue. 
Stirling  often  describes  it  as  brown.  I  am  hardly 
an  authority  on  color,  but  I  do  know  that  no  sky 
ever  was  brown.  Then  he  tells  me  the  Green 
Mountains  look  green,  which  is  the  one  and  only 
color  they  never  are.  I  told  him  his  sense  of  color 
was  defective,  and  that  I  should  have  to  send  him 
to  an  art  school.  Of  course  he  took  the  remark 
seriously,  as  he  takes  everything,  and  feared  he 
should  not  be  able  to  find  time  for  such  study.  By 
what  followed  I  imagine  the  threat  troubled  him, 
and  the  next  time  I  asked  how  the  country  looked, 
212 


THE  FRIEND'S  VIEW 

I  was  amazed  to  hear  him  launch  —  doubtfully  at 
first  —  into  a  description  of  such  extravagant  pic- 
turesqueness  and  variety  of  color  and  form  as  I 
know  never  existed  among  our  New  England  hills. 
I  wanted  to  laugh,  but  thought  better  of  it ;  and 
then  began  to  wonder  where  I  had  heard  some- 
thing like  this  before.  At  last,  it  came  to  me  —  he 
was  quoting  Walter  Scott !  The  poor  boy,  prob- 
ably distressed  by  his  inability  to  satisfy  me,  had 
gone  to  an  authority  on  nature,  and  leaving  out 
such  cliffs  and  ramparts  and  waterfalls  as  would 
be  too  incongruous,  was  reciting  whole  pages  of 
highland  scenery.  Since  then  he  has  grown  bold 
under  my  apparent  unsuspicion.  I  listen  atten- 
tively, and  probably  look  as  edified  as  I  feel.  It 
is  almost  as  pathetic  as  it  is  ludicrous.  He  must 
have  sat  up  many  nights  to  learn  all  that  stuff,  and 
I  laugh  at  him  in  my  sleeve ;  but  I  can't  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  tell  him  that  I  know,  and  the  memory 
of  my  Lilton  meadows  has  become  confused  and 
lurid.  Stirling  is  absurdly  young  in  many  things, 
and  his  lack  of  humor  is  a  trial ;  but  he  is  clever 
and  shrewd  in  other  directions,  besides  which  he 
thinks  I  have  all  the  known  virtues,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  a  few  invented  for  my  particular  use,  and 
such  an  attitude  is  very  gratifying  in  a  constant 
companion." 

213 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Walter  listened  and  laughed,  but  felt  none  the 
less  heavy  hearted. 

"  Have  n't  you  anything  to  tell  me  about  your 
own  affairs  ?  "  asked  Dan  at  last,  and  Walter  could 
contain  himself  no  longer.  He  turned  about  and 
grasped  Dan's  hand. 

"  I  have  won  her  !  "  he  cried,  with  joy  and  tri- 
umph in  his  voice. 

Dan  nearly  wrung  his  hand  off.  "  But  what  a 
secretive  dog  you  are  !  "  he  said.  "  Why  did  n't 
you  tell  me  before,  instead  of  letting  me  talk  on 
about  myself?" 

Walter  needed  no  encouragement  to  continue. 
He  extolled,  declaimed,  and  congratulated  himself 
in  a  more  or  less  insane  manner  and  at  indefinite 
length,  for  being  what  he  firmly  believed  he  was  — 
the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  The  reserve  and 
quiet  of  a  lifetime  were  forgotten,  and  for  this  one 
hour  Walter  was  nothing  but  a  love-mad  boy. 

Dan  wondered  if  he  could  ever  have  sounded  so 
deliriously  foolish  if  things  had  turned  out  differ- 
ently. He  thought  not ;  his  love  for  Winifred  had 
always  been  too  deep  and  sacred  to  speak  of,  even 
with  Walter. 

"  I  suppose  you  go  back  to  her  this  evening,"  he 
said. 

"  I  promised."  Walter  spoke  doubtfully,  for  he 
214 


THE  FRIEND'S  VIEW 

remembered  that  not  even  Stirling  would  be  with 
Dan  to-night. 

"  Of  course.  You  would  n't  be  fool  enough  to 
stay  over  for  me,  even  if  I  did  n't  always  go  with 
Kate  to  the  Saturday  evening  concert." 

"With  Kate  —  you  mean  Kate  Randolph?" 
asked  Walter  quickly. 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  used  to  be  unjust  to  poor 
Kate." 

"  Why  poor  Kate  ?  " 

"  Because  something  in  her  voice  tells  me  she  is 
a  very  unhappy  woman." 

Dan's  face  and  words  were  unsuspecting,  but  it 
seemed  odd  that  Kate  should  take  to  concert  going. 

When  the  moment  for  parting  arrived,  Walter 
took  his  leave  reluctantly.  "You  mustn't  think 
this  will  make  any  difference  between  you  and  me," 
he  said. 

Dan  smiled. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  exclaimed  Walter,  "  you  do  think 
so.  What 's  the  use  of  getting  married,  if  old 
friends  are  going  to  the  wall  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dan.  "  I  am  not  getting 
married." 

215 


Chapter  XIX 

KATE  ATONES 


night's  concert  had  been  postponed,  as 
JL  Dan  had  known  when  he  sent  Walter  away  ; 
so  there  followed  hours  of  silence,  while  he  sat 
alone  in  the  dark,  fighting  with  such  untamable 
elements  as  still  cried  out  in  his  life. 

Walter's  visit  had  stirred  memories  of  what  had 
been,  and  of  what  might  have  been,  if  fate  had 
not  chosen  to  make  him  blind.  His  thoughts  grew 
clamorous  as  hungry  things  will,  and  with  head  in 
hands  he  wrestled  with  himself  till  the  night 
seemed  nearly  over,  when  he  felt  the  hands  of 
the  clock  to  find  that  it  was  only  ten. 

He  stretched  out  his  long  arms  and  knew  their 
strength  ;  he  counted  the  years  of  his  life  and 
knew  his  youth.  Then  he  groped  his  way  to  a 
chair. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  have  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  why  I  was  born,"  he  said  aloud. 

Suddenly  he  heard  Kate's  voice.  "  May  I  come 
in,  Dan  ?  "  she  called. 

216 


KATE  ATONES 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  answered  as  he  opened  the 
door  for  her.  "  It  was  imprudent  of  you  to  come. 
I  hope  no  one  saw  you." 

"  Will  you  hold  my  cloak  while  I  find  a  light?  " 
she  answered,  quietly  ignoring  his  fear  for  her. 

As  she  touched  the  electric  button  she  scanned 
Dan's  face  eagerly  and  saw  signs  of  recent  strife. 

"  You  have  been  having  the  blues,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  every  blue  devil  that  walks  abroad  is 
rampant  to-night.  Your  voice  tells  me  they  have 
been  with  you,  too." 

"  You  have  a  quick  ear,  Dan.  I  am  on  my  way 
to  a  party  next  door;  but  it  is  early  yet,  and  I 
have  some  things  to  say  to  you.  First,  you  must 
let  me  stir  the  fire.  It  is  bitterly  cold  here." 

Dan  was  pleased  by  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
voice,  and  the  gentle  rustle  of  her  skirts;  very 
soon  he  felt  a  welcome  warmth  from  the  revived 
fire.  Kate's  opera  cloak  still  lay  across  his  knees. 

"  It  is  nice  to  have  you  here,"  he  said ;  "  but 
you  ought  not  to  have  come.  I  suppose  the  party 
accounts  for  the  magnificence  of  this  cloak.  It 
seems  to  be  all  lace  and  velvet  and  things.  I 
don't  think  I  have  had  anything  so  pretty  in  my 
hands  for  many  a  long  day.  What  color  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yellow,"  said  Kate. 

Dan  remembered  an  evening  when  Winifred 
217 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

had  worn  a  yellow  dress.  He  did  not  speak  again 
at  once,  and  Kate  watched  him  from  where  she 
knelt  on  the  hearth-rug,  her  brilliant  dress  in 
strange  contrast  to  the  bareness  of  the  room. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  she  said  suddenly. 

"  Going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  have  brought  you  my  season  ticket 
for  our  concerts.  Give  it  to  any  one  you  choose. 
Where  shall  I  put  it  ?  " 

"  On  the  table,  please.  I  can't  think  of  any 
one  to  give  it  to  just  now.  Why  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Mamma  is  ill.  The  doctor  says  we  must  go 
away.  I  shall  not  come  back." 

"  I  shall  miss  you,  Kate." 

"Really,  Dan?" 

"'  Really  —  truly,'  "  he  quoted  the  childish 
phrase  with  a  smile.  "  Perhaps  you  will  come 
back." 

"No  —  I  am  going  to  marry  Lord  de  Nor- 
mandy." 

"  You  love  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy." 

"  But  you  don't  think  so  ;  neither  do  I.  Mamma 
will  be,  and  she  has  n't  many  years  to  live." 

"  That  is  a  wrong  idea  of  sacrifice,"  said  Dan 
quickly. 

218 


KATE  ATONES 

"Not  for  me.  After  all,  it  doesn't  make  so 
much  difference  what  one  does.  The  great  thing 
is  to  get  through  with  it  —  life,  I  mean  —  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"  I  have  never  felt  that  I  had  the  right  to  ask 
you  what  your  trouble  was,"  said  Dan. 

She  still  knelt  on  the  hearth-rug  and  leaned  her 
head  against  the  arm  of  a  chair. 

"  I  have  loved  one  man  all  my  life,  and  —  that 
is  all,"  said  Kate. 

"  That  is  the  worst."  He  spoke  gravely  and 
pityingly.  "  Is  there  another  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  if  there  were  not  it  would  have  been 
the  same  —  for  me." 

The  firelight  danced  and  gleamed  on  the  bare 
room,  on  Dan  with  his  stern,  gravely  brooding 
face,  on  Kate's  brilliant  dress,  on  Kate's  closed 
eyes,  and  the  tears  that  slipped  from  under  her 
lids.  The  clock  struck. 

"  I  ought  to  go,"  she  said,  but  knelt  on  without 
moving.  "  And  this  is  good-by.  We  have  n't  got 
much  out  of  life,  have  we,  Dan  ?  I  wonder  how 
much  longer  it  is  going  to  last." 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  that  myself." 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  pass  this  way  again," 
continued  Kate.  "  We  have  had  our  chance  and 
we  have  lost  it.  Life  ought  not  to  have  failed  for 
219 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

you,"  she  said  passionately.  "  For  me  —  that  was 
different.  I  brought  things  on  myself;  but  you, 
Dan,  you  deserved  the  best." 

"  Instead  of  which,  something  stepped  on  me," 
he  interrupted  dryly.  "  It  seems  as  if  there  must 
be  a  mistake  somewhere,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

Kate  rose.     "  I  must  go,"  she  said. 

"  Tell  me  first  if  this  De  Normandy  is  a  good 
sort  of  man." 

"  Would  the  best  sort  of  man  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  hoped  that  was  all  over,"  said  Dan  earnestly. 

"  It  has  been  —  since  I  have  been  with  you  — 
since  last  winter,  I  mean.  Oh,  Dan,  you  believe 
me,  don't  you  ?  "  There  was  piteous  appeal  in  her 
voice. 

"  I  do,  Kate." 

She  caught  her  breath.  "  We  are  parting,  you 
know — and  —  and  there  is  one  more  thing.  You 
remember  once  I  listened  —  and  you  thought  I 
would  tell  —  you  despised  me  so."  Her  voice 
failed,  and  he  stood  above  her  waiting,  ignorant 
of  the  passion  of  appeal,  despair,  and  love  that 
was  in  her  face. 

"You  looked  at  me,"  she  continued  breath- 
lessly, "  and  the  look  has  been  scorching  my  life 
away  ever  since.  Could  n't  you  take  it  back  now  ? 
I  was  wrong  to  listen ;  but  I  thought  trouble  was 
220 


KATE  ATONES 

coming  to  you.  And  I  would  n't  have  told,  not  if 
they  had  killed  me  for  it.  So  can't  you  take  back 
what  you  thought  of  me  then,  now  that  we  are 
parting  —  now  that  we  are  parting,  Dan —  Won't 
you  try,  honestly,  to  take  it  back?" 

"  I  think  I  can  take  it  back  without  trying  very 
hard,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Indeed,  I  took  it  back 
some  time  ago.  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  much  of  a 
brute  ;  it  is  you  who  must  try  to  forgive  me.  You 
see  I  was  n't  very  cheerful  at  that  time." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Poor  little  Kate,"  he  said. 

She  clung  to  him.  "  You  mean  it  —  Yes,  I 
know  you  mean  it.  I  was  so  afraid  to  ask.  Good- 
by,  Dan  —  Don't  always  remember  me  by  to- 
night. I  don't  usually  talk  so  about  myself  —  only 
we  were  parting,  and  you  understand  —  partly. 
When  I  tell  mamma,  she  says  I  ought  not  to  blame 
her  for  my  unhappiness,  because  she  has  always 
done  her  duty  by  me,  and  sent  me  to  the  best 
dressmakers."  Kate  laughed  mournfully. 

"  Poor  little  Kate,"  said  Dan  again. 

"  Don't  —  don't  be  kind  to  me.  I  can't  bear  it 
to-night.  And  there  is  one  thing  more."  She 
faltered  and  caught  her  voice  on  the  edge  of  a 
frightened  sob.  "  There  is  one  thing  I  want  to 
ask  of  you ;  I  will  never  ask  anything  again.  But 
221 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

you  say — you  said  just  now  that  you  had  changed 
your  mind  about  me.  I  know  I  have  n't  been  the 
right  sort  of  girl,  not  the  kind  the  best  men  want 
for  sisters  or  wives.  And  then  you  looked  at  me 
that  way,  and  I  understood  for  the  first  time,  and 
I  have  tried  to  change  —  only  people  would  not 
believe  me.  It  makes  it  so  hard  when  no  one  be- 
lieves. But  there  has  n't  been  anything  since  that 
you  could  n't  respect.  I  swear  it,  Dan  —  I  swear 
it —  Oh,  my  God,  how  can  I  make  you  believe 
me!" 

"  Hush,  Kate  —  hush.     I  do  believe  you." 

She  was  quivering  hysterically. 

"  I  never  had  a  brother  to  tell  me,  or  to  care  how 
I  went.  Mamma  never  cared,  nor  you.  But  now 
— now  that  we  are  parting,  do  you  think  you  could 

—  you  said  you  believed  me  —  do  you  think   you 
could  kiss  me  just  once  as  a  brother  kisses  a  sister 
he  respects  ?     I  never  had  any  one  to  kiss  me  that 
way,  and  if  you  could  —  if  you  can't,  don't  pretend 

—  but  if  you  could  kiss  me  just  once  like  that  —  I 
think  —  I  think  it  would  make  me  a  better  woman 
all  my  life,  Dan." 

"  My  poor  little  girl !    Where  are  you  ?  " 
She   came  to  him,  and  bending,  he  kissed  her 
lightly  on  the  forehead.     He  was  pale,  for  it  might 
222 


KATE  ATONES 

have  been  Winifred,  but  he  kept  Kate's  hands, 
though  she  trembled  and  tried  to  draw  from 
him. 

"  Be  careful  what  you  do.  Living  can  hurt  too 
much  to  be  trifled  with,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  of  your  marrying  this  man.  Have  you 
given  the  other  one  a  fair  chance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  no  use.  I  was  fool  enough  to  think 
it  might  be  —  once.  It  doesn't  matter  for  me. 
I  shall  do  as  well  with  De  Normandy  as  I  could 
with  any  one." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  met  the  unsee- 
ing eyes.  "  I  never  can  believe  it  has  come  to 
you,"  she  whispered  tremulously. 

"  Why  not  to  me  as  well  as  to  another  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  only  think  of  you  as  happy  I  should 
n't  mind  the  other  things  so  much.  I  think  —  I 
think  you  will  be  happy  some  day.  Dan,  the  last 
time  I  went  to  New  York  —  I  never  told  you  — 
but  I  want  you  to  know  before  I  go  —  I  saw  Win- 
ifred, and  she  never  heard  —  about  you  —  till  this 
autumn.  My  letter  miscarried." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Dan. 

"  She  told  me  to  tell  you,"  continued  Kate.   "  She 
looked  as  if  her  heart  were  broken,  Dan.     If  you 
saw  her  you  would  hardly  know  her." 
223 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  see  her,"  he  answered  dryly. 

Kate  was  talking  insane  nonsense,  and  he  evi- 
dently resented  intrusion  into  his  holy  of  holies ; 
but  she  went  on  bravely. 

"  She  is  going  to  sing  next  week  at  the  Cosmo- 
politan-. Are  you  going  to  hear  her  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  it." 

"  She  wants  you  to  be  there." 

"  Suppose  we  change  the  subject,  Kate  ?  " 

Then  Kate  told  her  last  lie. 

"  She  told  me  she  hoped  you  would  be  there. 
Good-by,  Dan  —  good-by." 

He  heard  Kate  close  the  door,  listened  to  her 
vanishing  steps,  then  went  back  to  silence  and 
loneliness. 

Kate  sobbed  as  she  ran  down  the  dark  stairway. 
"  He  will  marry  Winifred  some  day,"  she  cried, 
"  but  nothing  can  ever  make  me  forget  that  once 
he  kissed  me  as  a  brother  would  kiss  a  sister  he 
honored." 

Dan  sat  in  his  chair.  It  was  not  in  the  man  to 
suspect  Kate's  love  for  him.  He  knew  as  little  of 
it  as  he  knew  of  the  light  that  streamed  into  his 
eyes.  There  was  only  room  in  his  thoughts  for 
one  love,  and  this  great  love  must  be  love  without 
service  to  the  end.  An  hour  later  he  had  not 
224 


KATE  ATONES 

moved,  and  iron  tongues  from  the  church  spires 
called  out  the  midnight. 

"  Life  is  long,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself.  "  The 
mills  of  God  grind  slowly."  And  he  bowed  his 
head  as  if  in  prayer. 

225 


Chapter  XX 

DOCTOR  DAVAGE  AGAIN 

DAN  decided  to  go  on  to  New  York  for  Wini- 
fred's debut ;  also  he  would  call  upon  her, 
and  stop  her  from  worrying  about  the  lost  letter. 
He  did  not  feel  sure  that  she  would  care  to  see  him ; 
but  it  could  not  do  any  harm  to  take  one  hour  of 
her  life,  and  he  was  hungering  intolerably  for 
the  sound  of  her.  "  She  will  have  to  want  to  see 
me,"  he  said  with  a  whimsical  flash  of  his  old  arro- 
gance. 

Poor  Kate  had  evidently  some  ridiculous  notions 
about  Winifred's  feeling  for  him ;  but  it  was  pos- 
sible she  wished  him  to  be  present  at  her  debut, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  received  orders.  He  must 
take  Stirling,  of  course,  and  leave  his  business  to 
Providence  and  the  devil.  He  told  himself  that  he 
was  a  fool ;  but  felt  the  fact  to  be  immaterial. 

A  few  days  before  his  departure,  he  was  coming 
home  from  his  office,  when  a  vaguely  familiar 
voice  addressed  him. 

"I  am  Dr.  Davage,"  said  the  voice.  "You 
226 


DR.  DAVAGE  AGAIN 

should  have  good  cause  to  remember  me.  I  thought 
I  should  like  to  see  what  had  become  of  you." 

"  Which  is  easily  seen." 

"  And  that  means  that  you  want  to  be  rid  of  me. 
Won't  you  dismiss  your  companion  instead,  and  let 
me  walk  with  you  wherever  you  are  going?  " 

Dan  smiled.  "  I  should  not  imagine  myself  a  good 
advertisement  for  an  oculist,"  he  said.  "  You  may 
go,  Stirling.  Take  a  bicycle  ride.  Never  mind  the 
work.  You  're  tired  —  I  hear  it  in  your  voice." 

The  doctor  looked  keenly  into  Dan's  face.  "  You 
are  killing  yourself  by  degrees,"  he  observed.  "  I 
suppose  you  know  that." 

"  I  had  n't  thought  about  it,"  said  Dan  tran- 
quilly. 

"  Then  you  're  playing  a  fool's  part.  When 
your  health  goes,  work  goes  with  it.  Why  have  n't 
you  shot  yourself  ?  I  never  believed  you  would 
stick  it  out  two  years." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself,"  said  Dan.  "  Suppose  I  were  to  take 
your  advice." 

"  You  would  do  no  more  than  I  intend  doing 
myself." 

"  You  mean  "  — 

"  Exactly.  I  have  a  trouble  which  won't  kill 
or  cure,  but  I  have  no  mind  to  lengthen  the  chain 
227 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

of  an  unprofitable  existence,  and  am  debating  as  to 
the  easiest  way  of  ending  it.  Won't  you  have  a 
light?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  can't  seem  to  enjoy  smoking 
in  the  dark." 

"  True,  the  blind  don't  smoke.  Seems  like  add- 
ing insult  to  injury,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  You  mean  depriving  a  man  of  sight  and  vices 
at  the  same  time  ?  I  have  thought  so  myself." 

The  doctor  grinned  delightedly.  "  I  like  to  see  a 
fellow  game,  though  he  is  a  fool,"  he  said.    "  Let 's 
argue  the  matter  out.     What  have  you  got  from 
existence  during  the  last  two  years  ?  " 
"  No  particular  satisfaction." 
"  What  has  any  one  else  got  from  it  ?  " 
"  Nothing,  that  I  can  think  of  at  the  moment." 
"  Why  not  get  out  then  ?      It 's  easy  enough." 
"  In  the  first  place  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  a 
sin." 

"  Bah  !  I  did  n't  suppose  you  would  be  afraid 
of  a  sin." 

Dan  smiled.  "  I  could  n't  be  more  afraid  of 
anything  than  I  am  of  living.  But  some  one  sooner 
or  later  suffers  from  every  sin  that  is  committed. 
I  don't  want  to  swell  the  world's  sum  of  pain." 

"  So  you  believe  in  divine  ordering  ?  You  have 
reverence." 

228 


DR.  DAVAGE  AGAIN 

"  There  is  something  bigger  than  myself,  or  I 
should  not  be  blind  to-day." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  sir,  nonsense  !  It  is  fate, 
circumstance,  —  call  it  what  you  will." 

"  Exactly.     Call  it  what  you  will." 

"  I  see ;  you  call  it  God." 

"  I  am  not  sure." 

"  Ah."  The  doctor  was  silent  for  a  short  time. 
"  Ah,"  he  said  again.  "  I  was  right.  You  have 
reverence,  too  much  to  label  and  ticket  your  be- 
liefs. You  're  one  of  the  devout  freethinkers. 
The  twentieth  century  will  be  peopled  with  them." 
He  puffed  impatiently  at  his  cigar.  "  It  is  the  in- 
solence of  the  whole  business  that  I  don't  like,"  he 
continued.  "  We  never  asked  to  be  born." 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  we  might  have  been  con- 
sulted about  that,"  Dan  admitted. 

"  We  are  not  consulted  about  coming  here,  nor 
about  much  that  happens  while  we  are  here.  Why 
should  we  submit  ?  There  is  only  one  way  of  de- 
fying fate.  I  am  going  to  profit  by  it.  I  rather 
hoped  you  would,  too,  —  it  would  be  vastly  more 
sociable." 

"  No.     I  shall  keep  at  it  as  I  have  begun,"  said 

Dan.    "  Nobody  ever  lived  who  did  n't  die.     I  can 

keep  that  knowledge  for  days  of  unusual  length. 

I  would  n't  do  it  if  I  were  you,  doctor.     You  're 

229 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

too  good  a  man.  Think  about  it,  and  remember 
there 's  nothing  to  prevent  your  going  any  moment 
you  want." 

"  There  's  something  in  that  view,"  said  Davage. 
"  And  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  became 
of  you." 

"  I  am  written  in  the  past  tense,"  said  Dan, 
"  but  you  —  what  if  you  are  ill.  Good  God,  man, 
you  have  your  sight !  "  He  spoke  with  fierce,  sud- 
den passion,  and  then  he  caught  himself  and  almost 
immediately  raised  a  white  face  with  a  twisted 
smile  on  it.  "  I  don't  think  any  one  ever  heard 
me  do  that,"  he  said. 

Dr.  Davage  answered  nothing  for  a  moment,  and 
Dan  walked  in  silence  also.  "There  is  some- 
thing else  beside  his  blindness,"  thought  the  doc- 
tor. "  Perhaps  some  fool  of  a  woman  has  jilted 
him." 

"  I  wish  I  might  have  met  a  man  like  you  ear- 
lier," he  continued  aloud.  "  It  is  too  late  now." 

"  It 's  never  too  late,"  said  Dan. 

"  Yes  it  is.  "We  've  lived  our  lives,  and  I  am  on 
the  brink.  It  seems  as  if  we  ought  to  have  more 
than  one  chance  of  living,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  another  —  I  got  too  hard  hit  the 
first  time." 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps  you  're  right.  I  sha'n't 
230 


DR.  DAVAGE  AGAIN 

see  you  again  after  to-day.  You  're  a  brave  fel- 
low, Howard,  but  I  think  you  're  a  fool  for  your 
pains." 

It  happened  that  on  the  afternoon  of  Dan's  jour- 
ney to  New  York,  Dr.  Davage  knocked  at  the  door 
of  his  room.  "  Do  you  know  me  this  time  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes  —  so  you  thought  better  of  it." 

"  Humph !  if  you  call  it  better.  Let  me  sit  down. 
The  stairs  have  knocked  me  up." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Dan.  "Can't  I  get  you 
something?  I  think  I  might  find  some  whiskey 
after  a  certain  amount  of  blundering." 

"  No,  it  will  pass  —  it 's  my  heart."  Dan  found 
his  way  back  to  a  chair. 

"I  am  sorry  my  secretary  is  buying  railroad 
tickets,"  he  said;  "he  might  have  been  of  some 
use." 

"  I  don't  want  your  secretary,"  said  the  doctor 
testily,  being  much  put  to  it  to  get  his  breath. 
"  Why  do  you  live  seven  stories  high  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  like  the  view,"  said  Dan  with  a  dry 
smile.  "  And  when  my  eyes  went,  I  knew  the  lay 
of  the  land,  and  could  find  things." 

"  It 's  rather  a  gloomy  looking  room,  but  I  don't 
suppose  you  mind  that." 

231 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"It  doesn't  trouble  me  seriously,"  answered 
Dan. 

There  was  a  kindness  in  the  doctor's  voice  that 
took  from  his  pitiless  plainness  of  speech. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  have  decided  to  stick 
it  out,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  Dan  answered  heart- 
ily. "  What  changed  your  mind  ?  " 

"  I  saw  you  find  your  way  upstairs  alone  the 
other  day  after  I  said  good-by." 

"  Ah  —  and  the  moral  of  that  is  "  —  There  was 
an  almost  imperceptible  contraction  of  Dan's  lips. 

"  I  was  ashamed  of  myself.  If  you  could  stand 
up  under  such  fire,  I  thought  I  might  face  mine." 

"  That 's  rather  amusing,"  said  Dan. 

"  Can't  see  it,"  answered  Davage. 

"  I  always  knew  I  must  be  a  spectacle  when  I 
went  round  by  myself,  —  people  can  look  the  other 
way  if  they  don't  like  it,  —  but  now  it  seems  I  am 
a  promoter  of  virtue." 

"  I  am  glad  you  regard  it  as  a  virtue ;  I  call  it 
damned  obstinacy,  or  pride,  or  anything  else  you 
like.  But  I  thought  it  might  be  a  satisfaction  to 
you  to  know  that  your  example  is  responsible  for 
my  continued  existence  —  and  suffering.  In  fact, 
I  came  up  these  troublesome  stairs  to-day  to  tell 
you  that  as  far  as  I  am  responsible,  I  shall  continue 
232 


DR.  DAVAGE  AGAIN 

to  exist  and  suffer  as  long  as  you  do.     Do  you 
expect  me  to  thank  you  for  it  ?  " 

*'  No,"  answered  Dan. 

"  That 's  sensible  of  you,  for  I  am  not  conscious 
of  gratitude  —  as  yet.  It  will  be  interesting  to 
see  what  becomes  of  you." 

Davage  looked  at  him  for  a  little  while  in  silence, 
then  he  rose  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  like  you  better  than  any 
man  I  ever  saw  ?  "  he  said. 

"  That 's  curious,"  answered  Dan.  "  I  like  you, 
too,  which  is  more  curious  still,  for  you  don't  spare 
my  sensibilities  especially." 

"  I  am  not  as  bad  as  I  sound." 

"  I  have  suspected  as  much." 

"  So  it 's  friendship,  then  —  for  what 's  left  to 
us?" 

"  Here 's  my  hand  on  it,"  said  Dan. 

"  And  if  I  don't  bring  you  anything  else,  you 
will  have  the  never  ending  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  you  are  responsible  for  my  being  alive,  and 
cursing  pretty  much  every  day  that  comes  along." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Dan.     "  I  don't  get  much  satis- 
faction from  life,  so  I  '11  make  the  best  of  that." 
233 


Chapter  XXI 

WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

THE  day  before  Winifred's  appearance  at  the 
Cosmopolitan  was  bitterly  cold.  She  shivered 
and  drew  her  furs  about  her  as  she  stepped  into 
the  street  after  the  last  rehearsal.  The  occasion 
had  been  a  trying  one :  the  tenor  was  hoarse  and 
had  sworn  —  with  due  regard  for  vocal  cords  — 
at  his  inability  to  sustain  his  highest  note.  The 
contralto  had  flatted,  and  ruined  her  duet  with 
Winifred,  who  shared  the  consequent  blame.  The 
impresario,  who  sat  in  the  first  gallery,  was  out 
of  temper,  and  shouted  hoarse  commands  across  a 
waste  of  empty  theatre.  Nothing  went  well,  and 
the  cast  —  an  illy  clad  set  of  Italians  and  French 
—  frowned  upon  Winifred,  who  had  laughed  when 
the  high-priest  tripped  over  his  worsted  muffler  in 
the  very  act  of  a  solemn  prayer. 

Every  one  has   heard   of   the  disillusion  of  an 
empty  theatre,  and  many  have  seen  it —  the  barren 
stage,  with  its  dust  and  heaps  of  shabby  scenery, 
234 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

the  vast,  dimly  lighted,  echoing  spaces  beyond,  and 
the  gaping  galleries. 

When  Winifred  stepped  on  the  stage  for  her 
last  duet  and  solo,  she  had  been  in  a  mood  of  reck- 
less misery,  and  looking  into  the  shadowy  theatre 
had  sung  out  something  of  the  passion  and  despair 
that  was  in  her  heart. 

The  chorus  ceased  whispering,  and  the  impre- 
sario nodded,  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "Zat  will 
do  —  zat  will  do,"  he  exclaimed,  coming  down  to 
the  footlights  when  she  had  finished.  "  If  you 
sing  like  zat  to-morrow  night  —  I  gives  you  any 
single  zing  you  want ;  but  if  you  do  not "  — 
He  shook  his  fist  playfully,  and  dismissed  the 
troupe  with  restored  good-humor.  Winifred  went 
out  into  the  early  twilight,  shivering,  and,  partly 
because  of  a  deadly  weariness,  forgetful  of  her 
success. 

There  was  no  cab  as  usual  at  the  corner,  and 
the  cars  were  crowded  with  Christmas  shoppers. 
In  spite  of  her  fatigue,  Winifred  preferred  walk- 
ing to  the  crush  of  a  Broadway  train,  and  the 
rattle  of  Fifth  Avenue  'buses  jarred  her  nerves 
intolerably.  Nerves  were  a  new  discovery  to 
Winifred,  as  was  the  possibility  of  being  tired  and 
the  wakeful  nights.  She  despised  herself  for  these 
235 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

weaknesses ;  surely  Dan  would  have  been  braver. 
To-day  she  was  more  tired  than  usual,  and  the 
ache  of  simple  every-day  existence  seemed  almost 
unbearable.  Of  course  she  would  live  to  be  old 

—  she   was   so   strong,   and    after    awhile   living 
would  n't  hurt  so  much  ;  but  Winifred  knew  she 
could  never  be  very  glad,  or  very  sorry,  for  any- 
thing again. 

The  walk  home  seemed  endless,  and  she  told 
herself  the  twilight  on  the  snow  was  as  the  light 
on  a  dead  face.  At  her  hotel  the  elevator  boy  in- 
formed her  that  a  gentleman  was  waiting  in  her 
apartments;  and  in  the  parlor  she  found  dusk, 
and  firelight,  and  Dan  rose  to  meet  her.  She 
gave  a  little  cry  when  she  saw  him,  and  stood  still 
on  the  threshold. 

"  Is  it  you,  Winifred  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  went  to  him  swiftly.     "  You  surprised  me 

—  I  did  n't  expect  you,"  she  said,  hoping  he  would 
not  hear  the  breathlessness  in  her  voice. 

His  hand  held  hers  with  the  strong  clasp  she 
knew  so  well ;  but  standing  before  the  unseeing 
eyes  it  seemed  as  if  her  heart  broke  afresh. 

"  How  was  the  rehearsal  ?  "  he  asked  her  quite 
naturally.  "  But  you  have  grown  thin,"  he  added. 
"  Why  is  that  ?  " 

With  a  great  effort  Winifred  commanded  her- 
236 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

self.  "  How  did  you  know  I  had  been  to  a  re- 
hearsal, or  that  I  had  grown  thin  ?  "  she  was  able 
to  ask  him  lightly. 

"  Edith  told  me  the  first  —  she  has  gone  out 
now  with  Walter,  who  brought  me  here.  The  sec- 
ond I  felt  when  you  gave  me  your  hand.  Are  n't 
you  well,  Win  ?  Kate  feared  you  were  not." 

She  drew  her  breath  sharply.  Had  he  come  to 
tell  her  of  his  engagement  ? 

"  Why  have  you  come  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  wanted  to,"  he  answered  dryly ; 
"  and  now  that  I  am  here  I  must  remind  you  of 
the  insignificant  fact  that  I  am  blind,  that  I  don't 
know  where  the  chair  is  I  have  just  left,  and  that 
I  must  stand  indefinitely  unless  you  show  me  to 
another.  Possibly  you  prefer  standing,  in  which 
case  I  am  willing  to  stand  also ;  but  we  should 
both  be  uncomfortable  and  "  —  Winifred's  hands 
were  on  his  arm. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  !  "  she  interrupted  brokenly,  "  I 
was  thinking  —  I  mean  —  but  don't  think  I  ever 
forget  for  a  single  hour,  or  minute,  or  second  — 
don't  think  I  shall  ever  forget  till  I  die  "  — 

"  There,  there,"  he  said  quickly,  "  I  did  n't  want 
you  to  say  all  that ;  I  was  in  fun." 

"  What  kind  of  a  chair  do  you  like  ?  Have 
you  grown  very  particular  about  your  chairs  ? " 
237 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Winifred  asked,  with  something  that  might  have 
been  a  sob  or  a  laugh. 

"I  prefer  one  with  arms,  if  you  ask  me,"  he 
said,  "  for  I  like  to  be  able  to  get  hold  of  some- 
thing with  my  hands."  He  laughed  himself 
through  set  teeth.  "  We  did  n't  use  to  do  things 
this  way  —  did  we,  Win  ?  "  he  added  as  she  took 
him  to  a  seat. 

Then  he  asked  her  about  herself,  her  health,  her 
success  or  failure.  He  had  heard  the  catch  in  her 
voice  when  she  first  saw  him,  and  told  himself  that 
probably  he  was  something  of  a  shock  to  her  since 
he  had  gone  blind,  for  she  had  been  fond  of  him 
if  she  had  been  fond  of  any  one.  If  seeing  him 
continued  to  distress  her  as  it  had  done  to-day,  he 
must  keep  out  of  her  way;  but  he  hoped  she 
would  get  used  to  it,  for  now  that  she  knew  he 
made  no  claims  on  her,  there  could  be  no  harm  in 
his  seeing  her  once  a  year  or  so,  learning  of  her 
life  from  her  own  lips,  knowing  the  strong  joy  of 
being  near  her,  and  going  to  hell  for  a  day  or  two 
afterwards. 

There  was  no  one  thing  he  could  give  her,  no 

service  he  could  ever  render  her  while  he  lived  — 

that  was  the  worst  of  it.     He  would  have  liked  to 

have  stood  between  her  and  the  world,  instead  of 

238 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

which  he  could  only  hope  not  to  be  a  shadow  on 
her  life. 

Perhaps  —  when  she  got  used  to  seeing  him 
stumble  and  grope  —  she  might  be  glad  to  meet 
him  from  time  to  time,  for  she  had  given  him  the 
best  she  had  for  eight  years,  and  he  had  been  the 
only  man  in  her  life.  Dan  knew  this  as  he  knew 
his  own  soul. 

In  the  mean  time  she  seemed  to  be  getting  used 
to  him.  She  answered  him  naturally,  told  of  her 
life  in  Russia,  of  the  people  she  had  met,  of  where 
she  had  succeeded  and  failed.  The  mutual  sympa- 
thy and  comprehension  that  had  been  theirs  in  the 
past  was  like  an  undertow  between  them  to-day  ; 
each  knew  the  other's  unspoken  word,  and  the 
larger  meaning  of  the  spoken  one.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  in  the  joy  of  this  hour's  companionship 
they  forgot  past  and  future. 

His  interest  was  vital  and  inexhaustible,  and 
the  old  whimsical  humor  was  keen  as  ever.  Often 
he  would  laugh  at  her.  "That  is  so  like  you, 
Win,"  and  again  he  would  disapprove  and  scold 
her.  "  If  I  had  been  there  you  would  not  have 
done  it,"  he  said  to  her  once. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  admitted,  "  but  you  see  you 
were  not,  so  I  did ;  but  I  knew  what  you  would 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

say.  I  always  knew  how  you  would  feel  about 
everything  ;  I  used  to  long  to  talk  things  over  with 
you.  I  could  n't  understand  why  you  did  n't  write 
— you  see  I  never  knew  "  — 

They  paused,  and  realizing  the  brink  of  the 
precipice  could  forget  no  longer. 

"  I  never  heard,  till  I  came  back  two  or  three 
months  ago." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered.  "  Kate  told  me  her 
letter  did  not  reach  you." 

"  And  you  thought  I  knew,  Dan,  all  these 
years,  and  kept  silent  ?  " 

"  What  else  could  you  have  done  ?  —  crossed  the 
ocean  to  tell  me  you  were  sorry  ?  I  can't  have  you 
troubled  about  that;  Kate  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  you  were  troubled." 

Kate  again ;  what  else  had  Kate  told  him  ? 
Winifred  was  not  jealous,  and  she  had  thought  her 
love  too  great  for  pride  ;  but  the  blood  rushed 
hotly  to  her  head.  Had  Dan  suspected,  and  was 
he  trying  to  be  good  to  her  ? 

"  Kate  was  right,"  she  said  with  a  firm,  clear 
ring  to  her  voice.  "  I  was  troubled  —  it  seemed  a 
poor  return  "  — 

"  Did  I  ever  ask  for  payment,  Winifred  ?  "     He 
spoke  gravely  and  proudly,  and  her  own  pride  fell 
before  the  memory  of  that  past. 
240 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said  brokenly. 

"  Perhaps  not,  it  does  n't  matter  now,  only  I 
won't  have  you  worried." 

"  No,  it  does  n't  matter  now,"  she  repeated. 
There  was  a  note  of  heart-break  in  her  voice. 
The  room  was  quite  dark,  save  for  the  firelight ; 
and  they  were  silent. 

Dan  spoke  first.  "  I  am  afraid  I  worry  you, 
Winifred,"  he  said.  "  You  seem  to  have  notions 
about  unpaid  debts  of  gratitude,  and  other  non- 
sense; besides  which,  I  suppose  my  blindness 
troubles  you  somewhat,  and  makes  the  debt  seem 
worse.  If  this  is  so,  tell  me  plainly,  —  it  is  the 
only  charity  I  ask  of  you,  —  and  I  '11  never  come 
within  the  sound  of  your  voice  again." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said,  and  paused  ; 
when  she  spoke  again,  he  had  to  listen  for  the 
words. 

"  I  feel  I  may  never  see  you  after  to-night,  Dan. 
Whether  I  fail  or  succeed  to-morrow,  I  sail  next 
month  for  Europe,  and  such  home  as  I  know  must 
be  there." 

There  was  no  faltering  in  the  low,  even  voice, 
but  she  paused  now  and  again,  and  then  he  could 
hear  the  ashes  fall  from  the  dying  fire. 

"  Before  we  part  I  want  to  say  one  thing :  there 
can  be  no  such  words  as  debt  or  gratitude  between 
241 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

us,  and  pride  is  a  small  thing ;  so  I  want  you  to 
know  that  there  has  never  been  another  friend  in 
my  life  than  you,  Dan,  and  this  will  still  be  true 
—  at  the  end." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  the  low  voice 
dropped  lower. 

"  In  the  past  you  did  me  the  honor  to  wish  for 
my  love  ;  it  was,  and  will  always  be  the  honor  of 
my  life.  I  may  have  denied  this  love,  but  I  knew 
it  would  be  yours  or  no  one's ;  I  knew  that  years 
ago,  as  I  know  it  to-day,  and  as  I  shall  know  it  in 
the  hour  of  my  death.  I  tell  you  this  because,  as 
the  years  go  on,  you  will  blame  me  unless  you 
understand,  and  because  I  cannot  bear  that  you 
should  think  I  want  to  pay  you,  even  if  payment 
were  necessary  or  possible." 

He  did  not  answer  her  till  he  could  do  so 
lightly. 

"You  are  generous  to  speak  these  words,"  he 
said,  "  but  don't  for  an  instant  imagine  that  I  ex- 
pect you  to  make  them  good.  You  are  still  obsti- 
nate in  denying  yourself  a  heart ;  I  supposed  you 
had  learned  better.  As  for  thinking  you  cannot 
love  any  one,  because  you  could  not  love  me,  that 
is  nonsense,  as  you  must  find  out  some  day."  He 
paused,  and  then  laughed  a  short,  grim  laugh. 
"You  should  have  loved  me,  Winifred,  and  no 
242 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

other  —  if  I  had  not  lost  my  sight  —  and  though 
it  took  a  lifetime  to  make  you,"  he  said. 

Womanlike,  she  loved  him  better  for  his  auda- 
cious strength  than  for  a  thousand  speeches  of 
humility  and  self-effacement.  She  could  have 
laughed  with  him  from  pride ;  but  instead  she 
cried  within  herself,  "  My  God  —  what  I  have 
lost !  "  How  had  she  lost  it  ?  how  was  it  possible 
that  such  love  could  have  died?  He  had  chosen 
that  it  should  —  that  was  the  only  explanation  — 
he  had  chosen,  and  it  had  come  to  pass. 

Suddenly  she  spoke  with  passionate  question- 
ing. 

"  Dan,  how  have  you  done  it  ?  How  have  you 
overcome  ?  Do  you  —  can  you  believe  for  a  single 
hour  that  what  has  come  to  you  is  best  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  once.  There  was  no 
bitterness,  but  an  immense  gravity  in  his  face. 

"Yes  —  I  think  I  can  believe  that  much,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Perhaps  not  best  for  me  ;  but  best, 
and  necessary  to  the  ultimate  intention." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  cried  bitterly. 

"  Neither  do  I,  altogether ;  we  only  see  the  half. 
But  law  and  order  are  eternal  verities.  When  a 
law  is  broken,  a  life  must  fall  and  break  to  restore 
the  balance,  for  it  seems  to  have  been  necessary 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world  that  some  should 
243 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

fall  by  the  wayside   that   many  may   reach  the 
heights." 

"  That  is  cruel,"  whispered  Winifred ;  "  must  we 
perish  that  others  may  live  ?  " 

"  Better  that,  than  perish  to  no  purpose. 
What  is  troubling  you,  Winifred  ?  There  is  some- 
thing, I  know." 

"  Only  the  cruelty  —  the  cruelty  of  it." 

"  Dear  child  —  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Dan,  "and 
you  won't  tell  me  what  it  is?  But  try  not  to 
worry.  Some  day  you  will  learn  that  the  ultimate 
meaning  of  it  all  is  happiness  —  through  love  ;  and 
I  don't  believe  any  of  us  can  sin  or  suffer  so 
greatly  that  we  shall  not  come  into  our  own  at  the 
end." 

"  Dan,"  she  almost  whispered,  "  do  you  ever  — 
pray?" 

"  Why,  no,"  he  answered,  "  not  as  men  mean 
prayer.  It  always  seems  an  impertinence  to  divine 
reason.  The  only  real  prayer  is  in  beholding  and 
worshiping." 

"  I  know  —  I  know ;  but  sometimes  when  we 
are  weak,  we  cry  out  just  as  one  does  in  bodily 
pain,  without  hoping  for  relief ;  but  just  because 
we  must.  Have  you  ever  prayed  that  way,  Dan  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  cried  out  once  or  twice," 
he  confessed. 

244 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

A  log  from  the  fire  broke  suddenly,  and  she  saw 
his  face  turned  towards  her  with  something  of 
wistfulness  in  it. 

"  You  say  you  are  going  away,  Win  ?  It  would 
be  rather  nice  to  see  your  face  once  before  you  go. 
You  have  changed  —  I  heard  it  first  in  your  voice, 
and  now  I  know  it  from  your  words.  You  are  in 
trouble,  and  I  suspect  you  of  doing  something  fool- 
ish ;  but  how  can  I  know  without  seeing  you,  and 
how  can  I  scold  you  if  I  don't  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  been  doing  anything  foolish,  Dan, 
and  I  don't  deserve  to  be  scolded,"  she  said,  her 
lips  tremulous  with  the  pity  his  strength  had  al- 
most made  her  forget.  She  was  looking  at  the 
deeply  lined  face,  and  realized  that  it  was  suddenly 
sad  with  a  very  dreadful  sadness,  and  he  had  been 
speaking  to  her  as  he  had  done  long  ago  —  when 
he  loved  her.  Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  like 
some  glad,  half -tamed  thing.  Then  she  told  her- 
self that  she  was  mad  to  hope. 

"  We  are  going  to  say  good-by,"  she  said 
aloud,  "  and  won't  you  tell  me  how  it  is  with  you  ? 
Your  power  —  your  success  —  it  means  something 
to  you  ?  " 

"  What  it  is  worth  —  no  more,  no  less,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  not  answered  me,  Dan." 

"  You  're  trying  to  make  me  whine,  Winifred." 
245 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

She  was  silent ;    then  — 

"  There  is  one  more  thing  "  — 

"  A  question  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  last  I  shall  ever  ask  you." 

"  Well,  I  am  waiting." 

"You  remember  once,  long  ago,  we  stood  by 
the  stone  wall  near  the  apple-tree,  and  vowed  to 
have  no  secrets  from  each  other  —  ever  —  so  long 
as  we  lived  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  apple-tree  died  last  year,  and  the  boy 
who  made  the  vow  died  two  years  ago.  Evidently 
you  're  afraid  to  ask  that  question." 

"  No,  I  shall  ask  it.  Tell  me  first  why  the  apple- 
tree  died?" 

"  It  was  burned ;  with  the  old  barn." 

"  So  the  old  barn  is  burned."  Winifred  paused. 
"  It  is  hard  to  believe,  Dan."  Her  voice  was 
suddenly  low,  and  eager,  and  tremulous.  "  Dan, 
there  was  a  place  in  the  loft,  where  " — 

"  I  know,"  said  Dan. 

"  Tell  me  now  if  you  love  Kate  ?  " 

"If  I  love  Kate?"  He  repeated  her  words 
slowly  —  with  reproach.  "If  I  love  Kate ?  — 
Winifred!  Winifred!" 

"  Then  —  no  —  I  hear  Edith  and  Walter  in  the 
entry."  Winifred  spoke  rapidly,  with  a  strange 
ring  to  her  voice.  "  After  all,  I  think  I  will  ask 
246 


WINIFRED  AND  DAN 

you  one  more  question,  and  see  you  once  again. 
Listen,  Dan,  and  promise  me  quick  before  they 
come  in.     I  sing  to-morrow  night  —  you  will  be 
there  to  hear  me ;   and  after,  the  next  day,  you 
will  come  here  —  promise  me  you  will  come." 
"  Why,  yes,  Win,  if  you  wish,  but  what "  — 
"  Never  mind,  the  questions  are  all  mine  now. 
Remember  you  have  promised." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dan,  growing  suddenly  grave,  and 
then  Edith  and  Walter  entered  the  room. 
247 


Chapter  XXII 

WOMAN  AND  ARTIST 

DURING  the  past  few  days  many  rumors  had 
gone  abroad  concerning  Winifred  Meredith 
and  her  appearance  before  the  New  York  public. 
Some  people  said  that  Daniel  Howard  had  come  on 
from  Boston  to  marry  her,  and  take  her  away  on  the 
eve  of  her  performance.  How  her  operatic  contract 
had  been  disposed  of  no  one  could  explain ;  but  it 
was  argued  that  a  woman  in  love  disdains  contracts, 
and  believed  among  the  ignorant  that  Daniel  How- 
ard could  do  what  he  chose  with  contracts,  legal  or 
illegal.  Other  people  claimed  that  Winifred  had 
lost  her  voice  in  the  New  York  climate,  and  that 
her  name  appeared  on  the  bills  merely  to  swell  the 
impresario's  bank  account.  Still  more  claimed  for 
her  a  voice  and  talent  such  as  had  not  been  heard 
since  the  days  of  Patti,  while  others  asserted  that 
her  voice  amounted  to  little,  but  that  her  beauty 
was  great,  which  accounted  for  a  certain  success 
with  the  European  public.  The  only  undisputed 
fact  was  that  Winifred  Meredith  had  no  superior 
248 


WOMAN  AND  ARTIST 

in  birth  or  breeding,  and  the  ticket  agents  were 
kept  inconveniently  busy  for  several  days  before 
the  performance. 

The  day  itself  was  an  anxious  one  for  four 
people.  Edith  was  especially  troubled,  for  Wini- 
fred's voice  had  been  uncertain  all  winter,  and  there 
were  hundreds  of  people  waiting  to  hear  and  con- 
demn her.  Walter  was  anxious  because  Edith  was, 
and  Dan  had  been  entertained  by  them  both  with 
stories  of  Winifred's  shaken  nervous  system,  and 
tortured  with  fear  that  she  was  overdoing,  and 
would  ruin  her  health  by  her  profession.  More 
nervous  than  all  was  Herr  Grim,  the  impresario. 
He  had  staked  a  good  deal  on  this  new  singer's 
success.  If  she  failed,  he  would  be  out  of  pocket 
for  extensive  advertising  outlays ;  but  if  she  suc- 
ceeded, if  she  sang  as  she  had  sung  yesterday  in 
the  empty  theatre,  Herr  Griin  would  be  a  made 
man.  One  of  the  best  voices,  the  most  perfect 
training,  and  the  most  magnetic  genius  in  the  op- 
eratic world  would  be  his. 

He  called  to  see  Winifred  that  morning,  to  as- 
sure himself  that  all  went  well.  "  In  ze  name  of 
ze  Blessed  Virgin,  do  not  talk,"  he  entreated  her, 
"  or  laugh ;  was  it  you  laughing  as  I  came  in  ?" 

Winifred  said  that  it  was,  and  she  laughed  again, 
an  odd,  joyous,  reckless  little  laugh.  "  Ach !  mein 
249 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  KOAD 

Gott ! "  you  drive  me  on  ze  verge  of  ze  distraction," 
cried  Herr  Griin.  "  It  is  better  to  talk  even,  zan 
to  laugh  —  and  ze  cold !  and  ze  snow  outside !  — 
are  you  sure  you  have  not  a  hoarseness ;  try  a  note 
for  me." 

Winifred  took  a  chest  tone  and  swept  upwards 
triumphantly  to  a  high  B.  She  held  the  note, 
played  with  it,  swelled  it,  hit  it  again  and  again, 
trilled  on  it,  and  finally  let  it  trail  off  into  a  tiny 
sound  of  shivering  ecstasy.  Then  she  turned  away, 
laughing. 

"  Himmel !  zat  is  enough  —  enough ;  more  zan 
enough  —  you  will  tire  yourself  for  to-night ;  but 
what  a  voice !  what  a  voice !  Zere  is  only  one 
ozer  in  ze  world  who  can  do  zat  to-day.  If  you  sing 
so  to-night,  you  have  ze  world  at  your  feet  to-mor- 
row; and  yet  you  talk  —  you  laugh,  and  lose  your 
chance.  But  you  will  not  dare  —  Ach!  you  will 
not  dare  to  go  out  in  ze  air  wiz  your  mouf  uncov- 
ered. Tell  me  you  will  not  dare." 

"Do  not  worry  about  me,  Herr  Griin;  every- 
thing is  going  well,"  said  Winifred. 

But  he  shook  his  head  as  he  left  the  room.  "  She 
would  dare,"  he  told  himself.  "  Zere  is  a  new  look 
in  her  eyes  to-day.  When  a  woman  looks  so  —  she 
dares  anyzing  —  ze  heaven,  or  ze  hell,  or  ze  world 
between." 

250 


WOMAN  AND  AETIST 

Winifred  alone  was  not  anxious.  There  was  a 
strange  intensity  about  her  this  morning,  and  Edith 
wondered  at  her  smiling  eyes  and  grave  lips.  All 
winter  Winifred  had  smiled  with  her  lips  only.  Yet 
Edith  did  not  wonder  much,  for  Dan  had  been 
there  the  day  before,  and  she  had  found  Winifred 
and  him  sitting  in  the  twilight  when  she  came  home 
to  make  tea  for  Walter,  and  Winifred's  face  had 
been  almost  beautiful  with  tenderness  and  radiance 
when  she  looked  at  Dan ;  while  Dan  himself  was 
graver  than  usual,  but  less  stern,  and  his  face 
turned  toward  the  sound  of  Winifred  wherever 
she  moved,  and  great  sadness  and  great  love  had 
been  in  that  face  for  any  one  to  see. 

Through  this  day  of  anxious  waiting,  Winifred 
told  her  nothing  ;  but  she  wore  the  look  of  one  who 
holds  a  wonderful  secret.  At  last  the  night  came. 
The  audience  filled  tiers  and  boxes,  and  overflowed 
into  the  aisles.  It  was  a  magnificent  house.  "  The 
biggest  one  there  has  been  for  years,"  announced 
Edith,  who  slipped  into  Winifred's  dressing-room 
to  see  that  everything  was  well. 

"  Oh !  Win,  dear,  I  hope  you  're  going  to  sing 
your  best." 

"  Has  Dan  come  ?  "  asked  Winifred. 

"  Yes,  I  passed  him  as  I  came  along.  He  looks 
a  good  deal  upset." 

251 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  Tell  him  not  to  worry,"  she  said. 

Edith  left  her  standing  in  a  blaze  of  lights,  while 
two  maids  arranged  the  folds  of  her  priestess  robes ; 
but  Winifred's  face  was  pale  and  rapt,  with  smil- 
ing eyes  and  grave  lips,  which  suggested  the  wind 
and  starlight  that  were  above  the  footlights  and  the 
people,  their  praise  or  their  blame. 

"  How  does  she  say  she  feels  ? "  asked  Walter, 
who  met  Edith  on  her  return  from  the  wings. 

"  She  said  nothing,  except  to  ask  if  Dan  were 
here,  and  to  send  him  word  not  to  worry.  Some- 
thing wonderful  is  going  to  happen,  Walter ;  wait 
and  see." 

They  stopped  for  a  moment  by  Dan,  who  was 
sitting  with  Stirling  in  the  first  gallery. 

"  She  says  you  're  not  to  worry,"  Edith  told  him, 
with  dancing  eyes. 

"  That  's  all  very  well,"  complained  Walter, 
"  but  how  can  she  tell  till  she  begins  to  sing  ? 
This  public  life  is  a  bad  business.  If  she  does  n't 
succeed,  Edith  will  be  miserable  for  a  week." 

Dan  smiled.  "  If  it  were  possible  for  Winifred 
to  make  more  than  one  first  appearance,  I  should 
fear  for  your  life's  happiness,  Wally,"  he  said. 

The  house  was  full,  and  the  audience  were  wait- 
ing, gossiping,  and  speculating  the  while  on  Wini- 
fred's probable  looks  and  talent.  Those  who  knew 
252 


WOMAN  AND  ARTIST 

"  Lakme,"  that  most  impetuous,  seductive  exotic  of 
operas,  wondered  if  any  woman  New  England  born 
and  bred  could  be  temperamentally  equal  to  it. 
Artists  questioned  the  power  of  so  young  a  voice 
to  sustain  the  passionate,  soaring  music.  There 
were  some  present  who  remembered  Winifred 
Meredith  as  a  vigorous  young  hoyden  with  a  mass 
of  straight  dark  hair,  and  a  glance  and  speech  of 
singular  directness ;  these  last  waited  her  appear- 
ance as  a  prima  donna  with  amused  curiosity. 

The  opening  measures  of  the  opera  were  listened 
to  with  indifference,  and  the  tenor's  singing  of  his 
beautiful  solo  roused  the  first  enthusiasm.  In  the 
hush  that  followed  his  applause  there  floated  out 
from  behind  the  scenes  some  soprano  notes,  sweet, 
virginal,  strangely  thrilling,  and  the  next  moment- 
Lakm6  stepped  into  the  garden,  a  priestess  of  the 
gods,  childlike  and  queenlike.  Robed  in  trailing 
folds  of  white,  an  arch  of  diamonds  spanning  her 
dark  hair,  she  moved  through  the  flowers,  joyous 
and  regal,  with  serene  eyes  and  laughing  lips,  sing- 
ing as  the  first  woman  might  have  sung  in  the  gar- 
den of  Paradise  before  learning  the  lesson  of  sin 
and  pain.  Her  voice  recalled  to  world-worn  men 
and  women  half  forgotten  memories  of  dawns  when 
the  world  had  been  young  for  them,  and  some  faded 
eyes  were  dim  with  tears  for  a  childhood  that  had 
253 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

been  sweet  and  true.  The  story  moved  quickly, 
borne  by  the  impetuous  music  that  was  full  of  sen- 
suous, unexpected  cadences,  music  that  charmed 
and  bewitched.  Still  a  child  of  the  gods,  she 
played  in  the  gorgeous  garden  till  a  man  came,  and 
looking  into  her  eyes  sang  of  joy  and  love,  and  she 
was  priestess  no  longer  ;  but  a  woman  with  burn- 
ing lips  and  eyes.  Her  voice  deepened,  grew  warm, 
luxurious,  vibrant,  tropical. 

"  What  an  actress  !  "  said  some. 

"  What  a  singer  !  "  said  others. 

"  What  a  woman ! "  said  a  few  who  were  wise 
and  knew  that  none  can  give  what  they  have  not. 

The  ballet  and  gorgeous  spectacle  in  the  first 
part  of  the  second  act  aroused  scant  interest  in  the 
audience,  but  when  Lakme  came  forward  to  sing 
the  famous  air  des  cloches,  men  and  women  held 
their  breath.  This  great  aria  demands  all  that  a 
singer's  throat  can  do.  Winifred  sang  it  with  au- 
dacious ease.  The  house  rang  with  magnetic,  com- 
pelling notes,  daring  flights  of  execution,  runs  that 
tingled  on  the  air  like  whiplashes,  long-drawn  tones 
in  the  mezza  voce,  notes  of  bewildering  sweetness 
that  floated  and  thrilled  and  brought  tears  of  ex- 
quisite delight  to  the  listeners'  eyes ;  yet  never  for 
an  instant  could  it  be  forgotten  that  she  was  a 
woman  who  loved  and  feared,  and  was  in  mortal 
254 


WOMAN  AND  ARTIST 

anguish  while  singing  in  the  market-place  to  the 
betrayal  of  her  lover. 

Then  enthusiasm  ran  like  wildfire  through  the 
audience,  and  was  only  held  in  check  after  the  fall 
of  the  curtain  by  impatience  for  the  next  and  last 
act.  Here  it  is  that,  united  at  last,  Lakme  and 
Gerald  sing  together  in  the  forest. 

Passionately  tender,  deliriously  sweet,  was  her 
voice  then;  rapturous  and  triumphant,  swinging 
and  soaring  above  orchestra  and  tenor  in  a  very 
ecstasy  of  love.  Hearing  her,  sordid  men  remem- 
bered the  face  of  the  woman  they  had  first  loved. 
Hearing  her,  worldly  women  saw  the  ideals  of  their 
girlhood  looking  out  of  the  past,  with  beautiful, 
reproachful  eyes.  Hearing  her,  both  men  and 
women  with  jaded  senses  knew  only  the  pain  and 
sweetness  and  passion  of  grand  elemental  emotions. 
Such  knowledge  is  not  bought  every  day. 

When  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  Lakme's  swift 
despair  and  tragic  end,  there  followed  one  of  those 
moments  which  sweep  away  the  self-control  of  a 
lifetime.  To-morrow  would  be  time  enough  for 
reason  ;  to-night  was  for  splendid,  delirious  enthu- 
siasm. She  had  made  them  live  to  the  uttermost 
limits  of  their  beings,  lived  as  some  had  never 
dreamed  of  living,  and  no  demonstration  was  too 
insane  for  her. 

255 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

Again  and  again  she  came  before  the  curtain, 
graceful  and  stately,  but  somewhat  indifferent,  to 
bow  her  acknowledgments,  and  every  time  she 
came  the  sound  of  voices  was  as  the  rush  of  a  great 
tide,  and  the  walls  of  the  building  shook. 

Few  had  time  to  notice  the  one  man  among  them 
who  sat  silent  and  bowed  in  his  chair. 

Dan  heard  her  that  night  —  Dan,  whose  senses 
were  not  jaded,  who  did  not  need  to  recall  the  face 
of  the  woman  he  had  first  loved,  for  the  first  wo- 
man had  been  the  last.  Hearing  her  he  knew  what 
he  had  always  felt  —  that  the  wild,  strong,  passion- 
ate heart  of  her  was  as  his  own,  that  she  was  his  by 
all  laws  human  and  divine.  And  more  than  this, 
Dan  knew  with  a  fierce,  suffocating,  almost  mad- 
dening joy,  that  Winifred  loved  him.  It  was  to 
him  that  she  had  sung,  and  to-morrow  she  would 
tell  him  of  her  love. 

By  the  sounds  of  her  triumph  he  guessed  when 
she  came  before  the  lights,  and  once  he  raised  his 
head,  and  turned  his  storm-beaten  face  toward  her, 
as  if  he  could  see.  There  was  only  one  word  for 
him:  renunciation.  The  head  bowed  again,  and 
the  broad  shoulders  bent  lower. 

Stirling  touched  his  arm.  "  They  are  beginning 
to  go,"  he  said  timidly. 

Dan  did  not  move. 

256 


WOMAN  AND  AKTIST 

"  Has  she  come  for  the  last  time  ?  "  he  asked. 
«  Yes." 

Then  Dan  lifted  his  powerful  frame  slowly,  as  if 
under  a  burden,  and  put  his  hand  out  to  the  boy. 
"  We  will  go,"  he  said. 
257 


Chapter  XXIII 

THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW 

IT  was  the  next  day,  and  Edith  looked  at  her 
sister  with  awe. 

"  Winifred,  it  was  glorious  ! " 

Winifred  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand ;  she  was 
pale  and  oddly  still.  Only  her  eyes  showed  life  — 
life  burning,  expectant,  radiant. 

"  It  was  glorious  !  You  have  conquered,  Win. 
You  are  a  great  artist,  and  the  world  knows  it." 

Winifred  smiled.  A  London  impresario  had 
just  called  with  a  handsome  offer,  humbly  proffered, 
for  an  engagement  at  Covent  Garden.  On  the 
table  lay  a  contract  awaiting  her  signature,  which 
assured  her  a  little  fortune  for  singing  in  ten  per- 
formances to  be  given  in  New  York  during  what 
remained  of  the  season.  The  signature  was  with- 
held. 

"  Herr  Griin's  offer  is  a  splendid  one,"  continued 
Edith.  "  Why  don't  you  sign  it  ?  " 

Winifred  took  the  precious  document  and  tore 
258 


THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW 

it  across  the  middle.  Then  she  folded  it  deliber- 
ately and  tore  it  again. 

"  Winifred,  you  are  crazy !     Why,  Win !  " 

Winifred  rose  and  dropped  the  fragments  into 
the  fire.  Then  she  laughed,  softly,  and  recklessly, 
and  gladly. 

Edith  went  out  in  the  early  afternoon,  and  Win- 
ifred waited  for  Dan.  He  had  promised  —  he 
would  come.  She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  mantel- 
piece and  watched  the  clock.  It  seemed  that  the 
hands  scarcely  moved,  but  suddenly  she  saw  an 
hour  had  gone.  "  If  Dan  did  not  come  to-day  — 
if  he  had  gone  without  seeing  her,"  she  caught  her 
throat  fiercely,  and  then  somehow  Dan  was  in  the 
room.  Winifred  could  never  remember  how  he 
came  there,  for  her  nerves  were  strained  to  the 
breaking  point. 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  coming,"  she  said 
breathlessly. 

"  I  promised,"  he  answered.  His  face  was  drawn 
and  gray,  and  very  stern.  He  had  fought  the 
night  through  with  hungry  devils,  and  with  the 
higher  longings  of  his  being  which  were  marshaled 
against  the  absolute,  and  clamoring  for  this  woman ; 
but  when  the  day  came  he  had  conquered. 

"  You  are  late,  Dan,  and  I  have  so  much  to  tell 
259 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

you,"  she  said  with  a  strange,  sweet  thrill  in  her 
voice. 

He  did  not  answer  her ;  but  sat  with  his  elbow 
on  the  table,  and  his  face  shaded  by  his  hand. 

Winifred  was  white,  with  burning  eyes.  He 
heard  her  near  him,  he  heard  her  catch  her  breath 
in  the  silence  —  then  he  heard  her  voice,  low  and 
clear.  "  Do  you  love  me  still,  Dan  ?  "  she  asked 
him. 

"  Yes,  Winifred,  I  love  you  for  all  time,"  he  an- 
swered with  grave  calm,  "  but  we  will  talk  of  some- 
thing else  to-day." 

"  I  brought  you  here  for  one  thing,"  she  said. 

He  knew  he  could  not  keep  her  from  speaking, 
so  he  waited  motionless. 

"  I  love  you,  Dan  —  I  love  you." 

The  hand  that  hid  his  face  shook  a  little ;  but 
his  deep  voice  was  steady,  and  tender  beyond  all 
words. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  saying." 

"  I  know  nothing  else  in  all  the  world,  Dan." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
a  wonderful  and  glorious  life  before  you  —  and  I 
am  blind,  Winifred."  Her  hand  stole  into  his. 

"  Do  you  think  I  love  you  less  well  for  that?  " 

"  I  could  have  made  you  happy  once,"  he  con- 
260 


THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW 

tinued,  "  but  now  I  am  worthless.  To  take  your 
life  would  be  a  crime." 

But  she  gave  a  laugh  with  a  little  sob  in  it.  "  I 
am  afraid  you  must,  Dan ;  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  for  me  but  you,  and  —  so  —  as  you  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  loss  of  the  world,  don't  you  think 
—  don't  you  think  it 's  your  duty  —  as  an  honorable 
man  —  to  make  the  loss  good  to  me  ?  You  don't 
know  how  well  I  love  you.  You  are  going  to  make 
me  tell  you  and  say  the  words  a  woman  should  leave 
to  a  man.  Is  it  quite  generous  of  you,  dear?  " 

He  bent  his  head,  and  she  felt  his  lips  tremble  on 
her  hand. 

"  I  cannot  do  it,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  God  help 
me  !  I  cannot  take  the  sacrifice." 

"  Sacrifice  !  where  is  the  sacrifice  ?  I  love  you, 
Dan,  —  I  love  you,  I  say,  and  you  do  not  believe  it 
yet  ?  Listen  to  me,  Dan.  You  think  I  am  offer- 
ing you  a  slight  thing  born  of  pity,  generosity,  and 
some  affection,  which  shows  how  little  you  know 
me.  You  think  that  because  you  are  blind,  you 
have  less  right  than  other  men  to  hold  a  woman's 
love,  which  shows  how  little  you  know  a  woman's 
heart.  Ah,  Dan,"  —  leaning  on  the  table  she  bent 
over  his  bowed  head  with  yearning  tenderness  — 
"  can't  you  understand  that  just  because  you  have 
not  all  most  men  have,  I  love  you  the  more  ?  Can't 
261 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD 

you  understand  that  for  every  lost  happiness  of 
yours  I  give  you  more  love,  and  for  every  bitter 
moment  more  love?  Dear,  if  it  had  been  I  in- 
stead of  you  that  had  been  blind,  would  you  have 
shrunk  from  me  —  loved  me  less  ?  " 

"  If  it  had  been  you  —  if  it  had  been  you  — 
hush,  Winifred,  don't  say  the  words."  He  spoke 
brokenly. 

"Yes,  if  it  had  been  I  instead  of  you,  what 
would  you  have  done  ?  Answer  me  quickly,  Dan." 

He  stretched  out  his  hands  with  a  passionate 
gesture. 

"I  should  have  taken  you  into  my  arms  and 
never  let  you  out  of  them  till  death  came  between 
us." 

She  gave  a  little  cry  that  was  half  a  sob. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  It  is  no  use  for  you 
to  turn  your  head  away  from  me  now."  Kneeling 
beside  him  she  spoke  swiftly.  "  Listen  to  me,  Dan. 
There  has  never  been  any  one  in  the  world  for  me 
but  you,  neither  mother  nor  father  nor  brother 
nor  friend ;  but  I  did  not  understand.  I  thought 
I  had  some  power  greater  than  the  power  of  loving 
you ;  I  thought  the  world  could  give  me  some  honor 
greater  than  the  honor  of  being  loved  by  you.  I 
thought  life  could  give  me  some  happiness  greater 
than  the  happiness  of  being  your  wife.  When  I 
262 


THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW 

heard  what  had  come  to  you  —  oh,  my  love  "  — 
Her  voice  broke  ;  and  then  she  went  on  with  low- 
toned  passionate  tenderness.  "  It  was  the  know- 
ledge of  your  loss,  dear,  which  showed  me  my  gain. 
I  knew  then  that  I  loved  you,  had  always  loved 
you,  should  always  love  you ;  that  there  could  never 
be  honor  nor  power  nor  happiness  apart  from  you. 
Dear,  how  long  are  you  going  to  let  me  do  the 
suing  ?  Dan  —  listen,  Dan  —  how  often  must  I 
say  the  words  ?  —  I  love  you,  dear  —  I  love  you 
—  I  love  "  — 

With  a  great  sob  he  swept  her  into  his  arms, 
silenced  her  lips  with  his  kisses,  drowned  her 
thoughts,  her  consciousness  almost,  in  the  storm  of 
his  love,  —  love  that  had  been  chained  and  starved 
and  denied  during  all  the  years  of  his  youth  and 
early  manhood,  love  that  had  lost  joy  and  hope,  but 
would  not  falter  nor  turn  pale,  love  that  had  come 
into  its  own  at  last.  Finally  she  lay  passive  and 
breathless  in  his  arms,  while  he  murmured  ten- 
der, incoherent  sentences  over  her,  kissed  her  hair, 
her  eyes,  her  lips,  and  the  beatings  of  their  wild, 
powerful  hearts  grew  quieter.  Once  she  put  up 
her  hands  with  a  little  sob  and  touched  his  eyes,  but 
he  drew  the  hands  down  and  laughed  with  his  lips 
against  her  fingers. 

"  Now  that  I  have  the  right  to  hold  them  always 
263 


THE  TUKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

here,  I  do  not  need  to  see  that  the  sun  shines,"  he 
said.  "  But  can  I  make  you  happy  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  how  well  you  are  going  to 
love  me." 

"  You  will  go  on  with  your  career,  Winifred  ?  " 

"No." 

"But  Winifred"  — 

"  It  would  take  me  away  from  you." 

Dan  began  to  show  signs  of  combativeness.  "  I 
cannot  have  you  give  that  up,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  your 
life  work." 

"  Dear,  don't  you  know  yet  how  well  I  love 
you  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  and  Winifred  had  withdrawn  her- 
self from  him. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  make  me  happy,  Dan  ?  " 

"  God  knows  I  do.   Where  are  you,  Winifred  ?  " 

"Then  never  try  to  send  me  away  from  you." 

"  Let  it  settle  itself  then  —  since  you  say  so. 
But  where  are  you  Win  ?  Come  nearer  —  nearer 
yet.  Remember  I  can't  see  you,  dear,  and  deserve 
more  privileges  than  most  lovers." 

Winifred  slipped  to  her  knees  beside  him  and 
he  touched  her  hair. 

"  Do  you  twist  it  in  the  same  coil  I  used  to  know  ? 
No,  don't  tell  me  —  I  want  to  find  it  all  out  for 
264 


THE  FULFILLING  OF  THE  LAW 

myself.  Here  is  the  parting  ;  I  remember  how  I 
used  to  love  the  silver  line  of  it,  and  here  are 
the  smooth  thick  braids  just  the  same.  You  have 
n't  lost  that  one  curl  behind  your  left  ear,  have 
you  ?  No,  here  it  is  —  and  on  your  forehead  there 
used  to  be  a  place  —  yes,  I  have  it  —  where  the 
hair  would  not  lie  smoothly.  It  is  better  to  kiss 
it  so,  and  so,  than  be  able  to  see  it  with  the  room 
between.  I  used  to  love  it  for  breaking  the  line 
that  might  have  been  too  severe  over  eyes  less  true 
and  fine  than  yours." 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  turned 
it  up  towards  his  own  as  if  to  look.  "  How  many 
years  of  life  would  it  be  worth  to  see  your  eyes 
with  love  in  them,"  he  said. 

She  gave  a  little  pitying  cry  and  slipping  her 
hands  round  his  neck  drew  his  head  down  to  her 
own. 

"  Dearest,  tell  me  —  can  I  ever  make  up  for  the 
least  part  of  your  loss  ?  " 

"  Where  is  your  hand,  love  ?  Now  you  make  up 
for  all,  save  for  not  seeing  your  face.  When  will 
you  marry  me,  Winifred  ?  On  what  day,  and 
hour,  and  minute  ?  " 

"  On  the  one  you  say." 

"  To-morrow  ?  " 

265 


THE  TTJKN  OF  THE  ROAD 

"  To-morrow !     Is  n't  that  too  soon  ?  " 

"  It  is  ten  years  too  late." 

In  a  little  while  she  was  laughing  with  her  face 
against  his  shoulder. 

"  Dear  —  after  all  these    years,  are    you  not 
ashamed  to  have  left  me  to  do  the  final  wooing?" 
266 


EUctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Hottghton  &•  Co. 
Cambridge,  fifass.,  U.S.  A. 


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